#InLove

I have to fall in love. Even it’s only for fun (what else it could be?) pretending one is falling for somebody and harvest only the benefits and advantages of being one__ meaning enjoying the cloak and dagger aspect of an early stage romance before the familiarity sets in and corrupt the mystery oh yeah__ with all its goofy rituals, then jump out of the boat before it reaches the boring soil of that oh so familiar terrain of an established relationship not to mention the dead end/cul-de-sac of marriage.

But where to find an specimen that will do all the necessary song and dance without further complicating the matter by taking everything seriously like really falling for you. One who understands no string attach means exactly that. One who will not ask questions and doesn’t expect anything and will let you off the hook without so much drama when it is time for the curtain to close and the play is over and have the decency to keep his mouth shut and will not view the episode as another feather to stick in his cap.

It used to be a lot easier once upon a time. I don’t know that one can possibly cultivate more conscience when one gets older. And the burden of morals and self-righteousness could become heavier as the time goes by. That attention from younger examples can give one creeps because it reminds one of children, particularly ones own.

And the things about someone you once find amusing (even slightly attractive) before will make you think not twice but all the time if that certain individual is really fit and right for the part you had in mind.

Makes you doubt if you would not hate yourself afterwards  when you think that you fooled around with somebody who slurps his soup, has a bit of earwax left even after he showered, wears safari coloured shirt with iron creases on the short sleeves they stand upright like butterfly wings. Things like that can give one serious nightmares.

Sometimes, I think falling in love like sex is so much ‘ado about nothing. Especially when it’s over and you’re the one who have to clean up the mess. In most cases, women always do. But the feeling of embarking into a new adventure is quite addictive. And I’m talking out of experience. I can honestly say: had been there done that more than twice over and back.  The only thing that didn’t happen is breaking my heart over someone or something. Scarred, dented, a little damaged but broken, no. I’m too sober for that. Besides, I’m guarding it with iron walls surrounded with barbed wires. My ex has another explanation of course. He said it never happened because I never hang around past the cloak and dagger stage of a romance. That I usually on my way to another shore before the relationship even have a chance to define itself. How can he say that when I was married to him for over 20 years?

Anyway, the newness of a fresh start of something yet undefined has a taste of adventure in it. And adventure is something everybody craves.

It is a natural energy booster. Works wonders in ones self-confidence and self-worth and lends strength to face life challenges with renewed vigour. No wonder those who are suffering from midlife crisis often embarked on new adventures. Only often times, it manifest into totally disastrous outcomes we are all so familiar with.

And what if the novelty is over? It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all-so to speak? I don’t know…

But I want to experience that exhilarating sensation again. That addictive intoxicating invigorating electrifying stimulating inspiring feeling of something new and different about to unfold. I want to feel young, desirable wanted beautiful sexy and all that jazz again. But without the usual consequences.

Is that too much to hope/ask for?

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6 thoughts on “#InLove”

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