I live in a shared house. With him. For more than two years. I haven’t noticed him. Well, that’s what I keep saying but somewhere deep in my heart I know it’s not true.
I rarely remember the first moment I meet someone. Impressions yes but what and where and how it happened, that’s rare. I remember him. I lived in that house when he moved in. I looked at him and I established he was very good-looking. and tall. but a very good-looking tall guy. The first remorse of feelings.
And logic kicked in immediately to silence the attention: he’ll live here, he’s younger, he’s this, he’s that, he’s blah-blah-blah. It went on for a year. However when he had a crush on someone I was jealous. We kept flirting though, slight, barely noticable flirts, just a little spark but it was always there. Logic never let it work.
Sometimes I thought I’d love to kiss him, just to know how he kisses but I always surpressed this desire. I always thought I wasn’t good enough. and when he kissed someone else; it did hurt and made me feel even less worthy. However with all my logic I didn’t want him at all so I tried to push this unworthiness away with my logic saying I don’t need him at all anyway. Trembling I’d never be good enough for him, he’d never look at me to see me as a woman because I’m fat, ugly, simple, ordinary and unperfect I did choose not to let him close to my heart at all.
My heart. My feelings. They’re all tucked up in a box. Locked and chained inside with a padlock.
Basically the way how my ‘heart’ looks like is a massive fortress. There are these emotions that build up the heart. The way I see them is they’re locked inside a wooden box in a dark room which is in a concrete bunker. The bunker is surrounded by a massive granite wall, tall and thick and there’s a similar stone wall around it and there’s a deep and wide moat filled with water around it. There are no gates on the walls, no bridge accross the moat. It’s all in the middle of a huge plain field so if anyone appears around I can spot them and prepare for defense. This fortress bears the most secure defense system ever in history, nobody can get through unless proven worthy and nobody inside the bunker but me. Even I’m not entering that dark room in normal circumstances it’s sealed so tightly. The box is kept locked and under control at all times. Sometimes though these emotions escape. Then I catch them, rule them out with logic and I put them back when they’re weak.
They make me feel weak. Make me feel vulnerable. That’s shameful. I can’t be weak. Weak is not by any means perfect. I must be perfect. I must aim to be perfect. Yet I’m just a wreck. Maybe if I tuck this weakness away I’d be better. If he doesn’t like me when I’m strong probably he’d turn away if he saw me weak.