Crash

I think, to a lot of people, when it comes to romantic love, I seem detached, overly practical, bizarrely level-headed about it. I know my ex found it particularly abrasive how willing I was to dismiss the intense feelings I had for him. I love you, so what? And I get suspicious looks from family if I talk about what I’m looking for in a relationship, like they think I’m in denial about the importance of feelings in romantic unions.

Thing is, I’d be dead if I paid attention to my feelings the way other people seem to. It’s not that I’m detached from them; I am exquisitely attuned to the unadulterated thrill of them. If I acted accordingly, my life would be multi-vehicle collision at all times.

But I have wondered, in recent years, if I have been unwittingly shielding myself from them, because I haven’t had cause to feel much of anything in relation to romantic prospects for some time. I’ve been distinctly unswept by any notion that’s arisen.

There are many other places I can find an unadulterated thrill, so it hasn’t bothered me. My life has certainly not felt lacking. But I wonder if something broke the last time. The last time I risked a crash and it hit way too hard.

I don’t know. I’m not sold on the idea. But I’ll let the possibility sit there, in case it has something to teach me.

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