Tuesday, February 9, 2010

A Love Letter – Sort Of


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It’s a tragedy, this crippling need to say the right words at the right time, especially for someone who has spent most of her life cataloging emotions, organizing thoughts and basically mistrusting her judgment of people’s characters. It’s a shame, my shame that I am constantly disappointing people. From my hatred of serious discussions to my inappropriate use of humor, this to deflect attempts at involving me in discussions – discussions that could turn serious at any given moment, makes me a hopeless case. It is, as they say, unfortunate.

So, change. Of the people I disappoint on a regular basis, I’m quite sure this has often crossed their minds. Disappointing, I may be, but dense I am not. Change, however, is as unappealing to me as being part of a serious discussion I cannot get out of. I have learned to accept myself and have never expected of people – the same group I disappoint on a regular basis, even the tiniest measure of understanding for my shortcomings. It’s only now that I have really started to care. See, when your significant other is severely hurt by your emotional vacuity, you try to get over your aversion to things.

And that’s where I am today; getting over my initial dislike of serious conversations and change. Trying, because I have taken a really long look at what I have now and realized that resisting change can cost me everything. Out of all the realizations I have had in all my 28 years, this is perhaps the most liberating, having come from a place of pure love instead of fear or insecurity.

Indulge me now, as I deviate from 28 years of disappointing behavior.

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I love you, Francis Norman M. Lucas.

Happy 138th.


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