I Am Scared of Attachments
It’s a paradox
I am scared of attachments. It’s a paradox really, because my basic need is for connection — a hand to touch, a heart that beats in time with mine. But fear, a chilly serpent wrapped around my spirit, repeats a recurring prophecy: love will betray. It vividly colors recollections of previous goodbyes, the anguish of broken promises a continual reminder. Eventually, those I loved with wide arms, believing their whispered vows, slipped away, leaving a void in the place they had filled.
I so erected barriers, and elaborate defenses of independence, thinking that seclusion would be safe. But the quiet inside these walls is so great that a part of me wants to knock them down and take a chance on the connection’s vulnerability, even if it means suffering another heartbreak.
I do now, though, see the value of setting reasonable limits. I now have a well-watched perimeter instead of an unbreakable stronghold. I decide who walks in, how close, and how long. This selectivity is about making a place where trust may be earned, not assumed, and not about totally excluding love.
Maybe a woman may walk up to these barriers one day. She won’t have to destroy them because the key to opening the gate will be her kindness and strength. Though she will not be discouraged by the scars that carved these boundaries, she will comprehend them. She’ll have my kind of quiet confidence and a great reservoir of empathy. And maybe, just maybe, with her at my side, I might learn to love again — not despite the dread, but with the bravery to confront it together.
© Shuvranil Sanyal, 2024
