As the year 2019 ends, I barely have enough love for the next year.
I am not sad about it. I just need to be alone for awhile to recuperate.
I mean, who am I kidding? I have a husband and child.
A Catch 22 every fucking time. Right? Who the fuck am I kidding?
I worry. I worry a lot.
Husband says, do not worry.
Son says, I got this.
Yeah right!
But hey, if my grandparents are alive, they would have been so proud of me.
I have defied my being. Though, it kills me now and then knowing what I choose to become.
I believe it would have confused them too, knowing I have taken on domestication.
They would have felt a bit sorry for me somehow.
It's hard to fight love, no? Even my strong mind yield to loving –– something I do best.
I love to a fault. I love like love is preached.
I have never thought I could actually run out of love.
All those giving. All those helping. All those loving all these years,
and never expecting for any kind of exchange.
Well, it finally takes its toll.
I need to outsource a bulk of love soon, the absolute kind.
sC