I think I finally understand what it means to have guards up. It's a decision. A decision I never knew I had. When you meet someone and plant the seed that is love, you have a choice to make. You can choose to water and care for that seedling, or you can choose to let it die. You can choose to choke its life away, I should say. A strong seedling would need to be killed - it wouldn't die of neglect. It would gather life and energy from wherever it could in its abandonment, and it would grow stronger despite your "will." "Will" - because who would ever want to kill - cut off - the potential for so much beauty. But that is love, or at least its beginnings. I think this is how men experience love, and how jaded women learn to experience love.
The women who don't know better, including a past version of myself, don't know that love is a decision. They don't know the seed is planted, and they don't realize how tenderly they've cared for it. They recall the moment they met their partner with passion - a passion so strong that it rose above the couple involved. There was chemistry, a spark and then violently beautiful fireworks. They speak of love in terms of 'falling,' because they fell and then they are falling. There are no decisions when one is falling - no ways out and no stops. They are in control of absolutely nothing. And so falling in love is thought to be beyond us. It is a fate we can only fight for, not against.
And so, fall with me, the woman's embrace screams.
But what if we can't take care of our seedling, the man whispers, in all of his actions and none of his words.
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