Fixation is easy. Infatuation is exciting and intense. It feels like everything passion is supposed to be, except that it’s never sustained.
I am fixated on you and I am infatuated with the idea of a life with you.
It’s probably unhealthy. It’s just another form of avoidance of emotional turmoil due to significant life changes. It’s not real. It’s not sustained. It’s yet another example of me selfishly searching for bursts of obsessive love so I never have to deal with the weight of loneliness.
This is the exact lie that, years ago, I would have convinced myself of easily. I’m going to try something new and not ignore these thoughts:
Instead, I’d like to acknowledge how I’ve made room for a revelation.
I did not spend the last year learning to trust myself, just to ignore my gut when it screams to me that this is right.
I did not examine my romantic relationships and cut ties with toxic partners just to ignore the only one that I never felt the need to set fire to.
The wax on my wings is staying firm.
I took time to make space for love in all of its forms. Should I really be surprised that, when I examine this space, I find you in it?
This love was too big to fit the small space I had been offering it.
With other men, I’ve fallen hard in love, and then learned to love who they are.
But I already know I love who you are. The sustained portion of this passion is already there.
Once I became more truthful towards, and trusting of myself, should I be surprised to delightfully realize it could have been no one else but you?