I’m Shipping Up To Boston (Blood & Whiskey)

May those who love us, love us;

And for those who don’t love us,

May God turn their hearts;

And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,

May He turn their ankles, 

So we will know them by their limping!

-Irish Blessing

Love is a funny thing.  Love takes you places you never thought you’d go; and down rabbit holes you’d never dare venture into otherwise.  Love is the blindfold that we wear in front of the firing squad.  Love is the pillow we smother ourselves with.  Love is a burden I’d rather not bear.  

Humans are such squishy, sentimental creatures, baring their souls to the masses daily (I, myself included).  Taking a hard look inward, I’ve noticed that I’m a disgustingly emotional hooman bean.  I cry at movies.  I keep mementos of times long since gone.  I occasionally write blogs about romance, and retreat deep into my psyche when love songs are heard.  I’m a sad grown-up version of my 15 year old self…and I abhor it.

I thought things would be different in my 30’s.  I figured by now I’d be married, or in a committed relationship with someone who gets me, and living the life I’m “supposed to”.  But honestly, I want nothing to do with that anymore.  Not saying that I never will again, but for now the thought is simply unappealing.  When you’ve got a face in your mind, and you’re unable to conjure said person, it makes dreaming again far more difficult.  A heart can only take so much.

Having a romantic soul is the epitome of masochism.  You dream, you hope, you lose, and then you wake up one day and do it all over again.  We’re such ridiculous creatures, unable to let go of the things that hurt us most.  Unwilling to change that which is intristic to our being.  We just don’t know how to let go…nor do we want to.  It’s a catch-22 of bullshit and never-ending disappointment.  

So, on this St Patrick’s Day weekend, I wish you luck, because love is nothing but a pain in the ass.  🍀

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