who's fault, but mine.

Series of the Fortunate

it's easier to believe in that perfect someone waiting out there, that will never hurt you in the little cocoon of warmth you have, in the little bubble you inhabit. that when  you feel so intensely that first time you meet them, look at them, and want them, you think they could never ever be the person you're scared of them being. that they hold the same thoughts, ideals, give themselves just as freely as you give yourself.
     it's easier to hope for that perfect person to come along, than it is to realize that the one you're meant to be with may be the reason you're carrying around so much baggage already.
     it's easier to deal with the fantasy than it is with the present state of reality.
you've already written them off.
you've already talked yourself out of the intial feelings.
and all the heartstrings that were pulled you've gently twisted back into place.
you ran up, so excited to see them, threw your arms around them and whispered 'i love you' oh so gently against their neck..
then shrink back into that shell of protectiveness.  the wall you've been trying to pull down suddenly gets slammed with mortar and brick chips as you scurry to scrape all the support back into place.
you talk yourself out of any feeling.
it doesn't matter.
they are plenty of others out there just like him.
then you slowly talk yourself into hating them, for hate is easier to accomplish than love.
why? because....
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
it's unconditional.
and thats what we have a problem with.
it's not us being hurt.
or self preservationalism.
its the inability to cope with faults that you find present in the potential relationship.
its how we react to the knowledge of imperfection.

its how we just realized,
that we do miss that one person we found so imperfect.
its how we remember-
staying up late and all those discussions,
and then falling asleep to the sound of the other persons breathing.
its how we could count the eyelashes on their perfect lids and never grow tired of it,
because somehow you found it worthwhile.
it's wanting to reach out,
and think maybe there are such things as soul mates.
and maybe love does exist outside of Cindereslla's fairytale.

but who knows.
maybe there could be a revolution.
and we could witness the new series of fortunate events.