Risk vs. Reward

The risk versus the reward.

Always a dilemma.

There are days when I soar

and there are days when I am so frightened

for my breakable little heart.

I don't know if I can take any more

I don't know if I'll have to

Risk v. Reward

I always stay

just to find out which

will win this time.

Hope is My Worst Enemy

I need to write more, so here goes. Let's call this one a practice in reality-based fiction:

And just like that, I'm pretty sure it's over, or ending much sooner rather than later. He'll wait until after New Year's, but not too much longer. We will spend Valentine's Day apart. I will be living in my parents' basement cursing my stupid heart for being so open and breakable. I already am.

He will want to stay friends but I will need time. Then one day I'll run into him at some bar with a new brunette girl. It will hurt so much that I'll feel like my chest is splitting into a million pieces, but that only means it will heal more solidly - more scar tissue to hold it together.

These scars will be different from the others; the two long, jagged fault-lines in my heart. One from my ex-husband, and one from the man who was supposed to be my second, and last, husband.

These million tiny scars will bind together the two large ones to make a whole scar-tissue heart, and be the final proof that I am a 100% failure at love.

I should run like hell right now, but I probably won't. Hope is my worst enemy.

So Then I Shut my Big Fat Mouth

Anyone who knows me, knows that subtlety has never been my strong suit. I say what I feel often loudly, and with a few four letter words thrown in for effect. I really do love 4 letter words. Well last night was no exception to the subtlety rules, and it did involve a four letter word; LOVE.

Boyfriend and I went out for a very romantic, fancy dinner last night to celebrate 2 years of dating bliss. It was all going so wonderful. Before ordering we talked about all of the things we loved about each other (feel free to throw up in your mouth at any time) and what made our relationship so good. Then Boyfriend made a huge mistake; he bought a bottle of wine. We toasted to 2 years of love and happiness (you puking yet?) ordered our food and enjoyed a lovely evening.

And then I got tipsy.

Marriage has been a hot topic for the last 6 months or so, and when I get some alcohol in me, it never fails to come up. It started out innocently enough, just re-examining if we wanted to elope or have a super small wedding in town. Then I opened my big fat mouth and these exact words came out, "So are you saving up for my ring? Have you already bought it? You know people keep telling me that you probably already have it, but are waiting for me to shut up about getting married. I bet if I went a whole month without talking about it, you might propose. Am I right? Huh?" His response, "Patience is important. Patience gets you good things. That's all you're getting out of me."

So then I shut my big fat mouth, but man! The suspense is killing me! And I bet he's loving every single minute of watching me squirm.