putting my love in storage

Two years ago, damn near exactly, I spoke of a broken heart. And, again, a boy did not take it, but it heaves broken in my chest, somehow, able to beat. Life takes away my happy and still sends me inward. I'm always trapped in reflection, which seriously is annoying.

I still think back to being 19 and destroyed. I was destroyed by a boy. I gave a boy my love like an expensive gift, but he didn't return it when our romance ended. He still has it in the pocket of the pants he never wears stuffed in the bottom of his closet... they are too small for him. It's as if he keeps them in case they fit again someday. And, maybe, just maybe, that's why I don't demand he give it back. Maybe I think I'll fit again, which is just silly. I mean, at this rate, he's not getting a refund for anything he returns. After all, it's been 11 years. I still remember his phone number.

I don't know if I can love again. It's never been the same. I've never been the same. There is no abandonment of all inhibition anymore. There is no going back to those days. That makes me so sad. I don't want to try anymore. There is no unconditional. Trying is stupid. I wish love would stop finding me. The bastard is sneaky.

So, it's in writing, I don't want to try anymore. But, there is still a need for human affection. How do I get that, and keep my fickle heart at bay, AND keep from hurting someone else? Somehow, I must. So, for now, I'm not searching for love; I'm fighting like mad to keep it away from me.