Fleeting romances, or rather transitional?
What I’ve learnt from 14 short romances over the past few months.
Over the past 4 months, I’ve filtered through at least 14 romances; men and women from different walks of life; each with their own incredible stories to tell. I’ve met with them in coffee shops, dingy bars, at their apartments, and even in a short hour-long flight. I loved being in this funk; unpredictable, vulnerable and exposed. They didn’t know me; I didn’t know them. It was the perfect place to be.
We’d meet once, maybe fuck, and just never text again. Sometimes, the tryst might ensue for a bit longer, holding onto whatever little interests we had in common, until it would die a slow death.
For me, this was great. Although, logically I knew that a long-term commitment wasn’t was I was looking for at the moment, my heart would sometimes question my mental instincts, leaving a little room for the occasional infatuation with the lover at the time. This would last all of two weeks at most.
I would allow myself to listen to my heart and fall a little, grappling onto the piece of themselves they left in me, before it would rightly fade away, to my relief.
I would lay awake at night, the heat from their warm body emanating comfort and reluctance, telling me that this wasn’t going any further.
I’d grown accustomed to this wall that separated me from them, I’d try to break it down occasionally, when I had the strength, but I’d give up quickly.
Which brings me to the question, why do we hold back? Why do we consciously subject ourselves to a lifetime of not saying exactly how we feel; aren’t we doing the listener a disservice? We exhaust ourselves with unsaid words, hidden emotions and reluctant gestures. We’re more comfortable being passive rather than give into our emotions, which make us human.
