Falling in love for the first time
I do not think it is falling in love for the first time that seems frightening. No, it’s not the fear of stepping off that ledge into the unknown abyss of seemingly clarity that leaves you feeling handicapped and unable.
It does not involve the feeling of unrequited love nor does it measure the intensity of how much you do— rather, it seems to be pretty effortless when you look back on falling in love for the first time.
Falling in love for the first time is something you’ll remember for a long time, or maybe even for the rest of your life. But I think it’s falling in love again that hurts you; that leaves you scarred and self-embracing, self-loathing to the fact that you’ve been here before and you have no idea how many steps to take and you are so aware of the fact you are so aware.
It’s the tiny precise increments that you count and just how cautious you are to be carefully careful. It’s the fear that you’ve maybe forgotten how to handle the motions and whether you even should, at all. You begin to count the seconds of sanity and wonder why you’re needing to reiterate the lessons you thought you embedded into your entirety.
It feels like you’re losing an integral part of yourself, of the lover you loved so much and hard, of the younger version of yourself that you watched from afar— it feels like you’re losing so much, but maybe just at first, maybe you’ll feel more later if you just let yourself.
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