Love Letter from the Edge of Reason

| March 28, 2017 | 1 Comment

I love you.

At least, I’m fairly certain I do. As far as I’m concerned, you are the Sun, the Moon, and all of my Stars aligned. A vision of Eros sent from the very Gods themselves, all for the purpose of driving me absolutely bananas.

Because it isn’t as though I want this. Chances are, I don’t even know you outside of a passing glance or a few brief exchanges. But something sinister lurking in my brain has decided that you are The One, and I must suffer for it.

And suffer I will. It will start with a spark, a flash of electricity that runs from the base of my brain down to the tail of my spine. Then comes the queasiness, the grim realization that “Oh no, it’s happening again,” before things really start to get ugly. I’ll feel myself slowly detaching from my body, my brain attempting to distance itself from what my careless legs are about to do. They propel me forward down the street, putting me in a position of hunter? Stalker? Desperate fool?

Regardless, it’s a position that brings me nothing but misery. I used to think that feeling this way about infatuations was completely normal. That it was usual to view seeing one’s crush the same way one would look forward to an icepick to the brain. That it was normal to lie awake at night agonizing over the smallest of interactions, and that begging for relief from any attraction was just another part of the romantic process.

But I’ve only just come to realize that you aren’t the love of my life. Chances are, I don’t even like you on the most basic of levels. Instead, you are a fixation. A point of intensity in my scrambled brain that, for whatever reason, has become the object of my misguided affections.

So where does that leave us? Do I attempt to know you, to smooth the lines between reality and idealism until I can see you not as an Idol to be admired, but an individual who is just as human as I am? Or do I fester in solitude, talking myself down in a darkened room until my thoughts finally clear and I am truly able to move on?

There is no clear cut answer, but I’ve uncovered the steps towards a solution.

Temporarily yours,

Borderline


Featured photo credit: danna § curious tangles cognitive circles via photopin (license)

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Category: featured, Poetry, Prose and Comedy

Vicki Saeed

About the Author ()

The brash speaking voice of a sea-hardened sailor and the softness of a velvet child. Two types of Brown and constantly talking about it. Catch me knitting in the sun and talking about social injustice/horror movie plot holes.

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  1. Heather says:

    Labels labels labels! As a practicing non-licensed behavioralist with a degree from RockBotom UnivColl with time and patience and all those in-between thingsamadingdang you’re going through nothing new out different. I fell in love every Monday or Sunday and by the scriptures’ teachings I’m going way way down. Hang in dere, deer, overdear sister! It gets worse.

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