Fireworks

You know how some people talk about love, and finding the person you're supposed to be with, and how it should feel like such a punch-in-the-gut magical unmistakable thing? They say "You'll see fireworks!" But really? What does that mean? Think about it. Fireworks are great. They're colorful and vibrant and sparkling explosions of entertainment and often nostalgia. That little pop and fizz when they shoot out of the ground, and then the big BOOM! that shakes you to your core and makes you have to catch your breath. That's my favorite part. But then, after the big bang, all the bright little glowing sparks fall to the ground and fade and die out and all that's left of the magic is the shadow of an outline in the sky. The smoke may be lit up again for a brief moment when another firework goes off, but eventually the wind blows even those remnants away and by morning there's no reminder at all.Why on earth would anyone want to tie these two things together? Love should be much much more than this. Love should be tangible. Physical. You should be able to hold it in your hand. You should be able to see it with your eyes. You should be able to just look at it and know that it is love. It is. Love. If only it were that easy....

I think that my problem is this: I hear that pop and the fizz as the promise of love rises into the sky. I anticipate the wonder I know is coming, that telltale boom I'll feel deep inside my chest. And then I expect it to last forever. I expect it to be magic and to stay magic, and I forget that I can't rely on the fickle fireworks. I forget that just because there's a shower of glowing color and light, it doesn't mean that it's real. It doesn't mean it will last. It doesn't mean it's love. Lately I've begun to question my ability to even interpret my own feelings. I don't trust myself to know myself. I don't trust myself to not get carried away and build up my expectations for something that always just ends up fading and blowing away in the night breeze. I'm like the girl who cried wolf, except I'm the girl who cried love. I've been so sure so many times, and have been so wrong that even I can't take myself seriously any more. I certainly don't expect anyone else to take me seriously. I understand that this may be how it's supposed to work. We're supposed to fall in and out of love. We're supposed to take chances and make mistakes, and eventually, if we're paying attention, we'll take a chance that actually pans out. And everything we experience before it will have served to make us all that much more sure that we've really done it right this time. We will be stronger knowing that we've been wrong in the past, so the future can just be right.

Well right now, I'm just wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong. So here's to being wrong. Here's to falling, and crashing hard. Here's to not knowing what I want, and if I'd even recognize it if I found it. Here's to keeping my mouth shut for once. Here's to fireworks....

Iwanttogohome.