Are Relationships Really Worth The Risk?
On The Fear of Commitment
Something so simple, you would think that people would have it figured out by now. A problem so fickle, you would assume there’s a easier way out. Logically, if you can see a mess coming, why not avoid it? The success rate is dwindling, so why are many still in pursuit?
To know that your heart could break and still choose it anyway, to see exactly what’s at stake and agree to be so swayed.
Is my brain programmed differently? Have I cracked the code efficiently? To think I had the revolution when most spend a lifetime looking for the solution. Even if I could, why would I want to? To risk it all, only to face the great fall and have no one but myself to blame, when I have to pick up the remains.
I am not sorry that I choose to be protected. I am not sad that I refuse to be rejected. Would you rather I become like you, with your heart wide open like the great Tom fool? I wouldn’t make mockery of your demise, if I actually thought that any of those decisions were wise.
They’ve termed the condition “commitment issues” as if that does any justice. If you really think this to be the real issue, then I don’t know what to tell you.
Does a smart soldier fight a losing battle? Does a top grade farmer invest in some sickly cattle? So who am I to pick inevitable heartbreak over my safety? What can I possibly gain from unending heartache? This goes deeper than a lack of trust. Before you think I've just not had any luck with love, I have but I’ve come to see such feelings as a warning sign.
I would rather bolt than argue about what could be mine. The lightning speed at which I would run from having to waste any more time.
Maybe I would feel more inclined to date, if this thing called love, had a higher success rate. What’s the point in trailing after something so ill-fated? I’ve been looking at the odds of an endeavor so clearly dated. I guess I have failed to admit that some things don't require logic or charts; this one especially, is more disposed to matters of the heart.
Have I then chosen my own grief and then deceived myself that I have created some relief, or are these just excuses? Do I secretly envy you? The one I addressed before, who is open-hearted to your core. What I once called Tom-foolery, I now wish someone would say such in my eulogy.
I question my own feelings as I’ve clearly done from the beginning. To know that your heart would break and still choose it anyway, to have such bravery, maybe I would not have it any other way.
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