Truckers

She’s got blue eyes that look like the mirror’s edge of a shallow, exotic pool.
My grandpa used to give all his grandaughters birthstone presents every christmas. I ended up with a lot of aquamarine coloured jewellery and nicknacks. So, looking in her eyes is like getting the perfect christmas present every damn time she opens them. A present that reminds me that life just continues trucking along regardless of how often you dig your heels in to brake it.

Attraction is such a fucking odd thing. I’m torn between the amazing time that I have been having and the feeling that something has to be off, that something isn’t quite entirely right for me to be feeling this happy this soon with this entirely opposite of a person. Part of me feels that my happiness now must somehow negate the value of the happiness I felt in the past, but that couldn’t be more false. If anything, my experiences in the past have made me more open to recognizing when something is really good, because I have truly felt it before.

Moving on is never a straightforward, easy process. It is never a perfect timeline laid out in agendas with day’s tasks reading such things as: “Week one: cry until your throat is raw. Week eleven: begin the process of opening up your life to someone else.” When my mind remains so cluttered and my heart doesn’t seem to be able to tell up from down, much less how to decide between a pair of rich, dark chocolate brown or wispy, sky blue eyes, I rely on the advice from my wisdom laden friends. Which is that my choice was already made for me, and the gut twisting guilt that I am feeling for even thinking of someone else is entirely unfounded. There is no timeline. You don’t choose the exact moment when someone will enter your life – it is always more like a baseball flying through left field and connecting directly with your skull.

Our hearts are consistently weighted by the memories our brains wish to discard. It’s as if they are homeless souls meandering just behind the elegant carriage of the mind and picking up the scraps that it chooses to leave behind. Regardless of how many times we may decide that it is time to move on, our hearts have a surprising veto that they seem to play at the most inopportune times.

I want to treat each person in my life with the fairness and respect that they deserve, and yet I find myself in the uncomfortable position where I believe I will cause pain whichever way I turn.
But that’s life.
It just keeps trucking.

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