I promised I'd write today. I owe this to myself: to write about happy moments I conveniently and often forget, in plain contrast to sorrow which would easily launch me into a writing frenzy.
So today I write, because I'm happy.
I find myself opening up again, completely trusting another person in a way I didn't think I could anymore. Strange, isn't it? We promise ourselves we'll never love again after a great heartbreak. But once the dust has settled, we draw ourselves back to the search. Maybe it's the way we're wired--we're meant to love.
I'm happy, because I found someone similar yet different. In those differences I can't help but be fascinated in and be drawn to, while in the similarities I find comfort. It just fits. It all works.
But I'm holding my breath. If there's anything I learned from my recent failure, it's that you have to take a step back, look at the big picture, and occasionally pull yourself back to earth. I'm trying to be careful.
One of the ideas presented by Sabina Spielrein, an idea I discovered after watching A Dangerous Method, is that the human sexual drive is about self-destruction and losing one's self in another, but it is also capable of transformation.
As a hopeless romantic and as a person who truly believes sex is for two people who have feelings for each other, I can't help but think that here I am again: possibly in the path of self-destruction, but, at the same time, possibly at the edge of the love that counts.