We are never fully prepared for the ferocity of a new love. We can't be. Love doesn't arrive within a gentle tap on the shoulder or a gentle nibble on the ear. It is the original sucker punch. An unannounced closed fist delivered at the speed of light into the heart, which is often followed by the sudden expulsion of air from the lungs. We've all been there and some of us never get that air back. But as you get older you learn to take the punches. The heart becomes tougher and we learn to read the terrain as we approach love. We see the exit ramps and the side roads. We realise the giddiness in our thoughts is due entirely to the slow draining of blood from our brains. The mild obsession and fascinations we realise, are no more than the encircling fins heralding our end.
But love is cruellest when it arrives too late and when a misspent life littered with mistakes tells you that you are not worthy of this love. That is a moment that I fear the most. When love is dangled before me. When happiness is within my grasp. They say a drowning man will always takes someone with him; if given the opportunity.
I however find the weight of my sins is enough to convince me that I must drown alone.
