Mutual

You’re never too old to be unable to identify feelings, are you? You’re never too old to feel again the things that once felt new, when you were too young to understand that the phenomenon which bugged your stomach and fogged your mind and kept you up at night wasn’t at all lightning bolts; that it was coming from within you, something about chemistry and the heart?

When you’re young they tell you, “One day you’ll understand your heart.” Bull crap. They forgot to tell you it’d be a lifelong deal bound to be repeated more than twice.

Isn’t all this life experience supposed to make us wiser and, thus, help us decide on the spot what the difference is between a passing fancy and a real thing to be had? One would think. But more pressure is added instead because as an older adult you’re expected to know what you’re doing; you’re expected to have your life together, when you’re just as confused as you were the first time the same storm flooded you and their spirit haunted your soul and mind.

Is it confusion or shyness, or is it pride or something else? Or is it the fear of rejection that keeps you from admitting to them or to yourself that the feeling is mutual? Or is it knowing that the revelation won’t change anything (for the better) that keeps you from talking about what’s killing you inside; that you’d rather explode than be honest about the feeling in your heart?

Whatever it may be can’t be a good reason if it feels like death every time you come face to face with the reality that it is to bottle it in. What kind of hell must it be for those unable to speak or express it in ink… I would know.

Sometimes, when a feeling is mutual it shows — no need for words. Other times, no one will ever know.