The man who can’t be loved

I believe that love that is true and real, creates a respite from death. All cowardice comes from not loving or not loving well, which is the same thing. And then the man who is brave and true looks death squarely in the face, like some rhino-hunters I know or Belmonte, who is truly brave… It is because they make love with sufficient passion, to push death out of their minds… until it returns, as it does, to all men… and then you must make really good love again. -Hemingway, Midnight in Paris

I have never loved anyone. I have never truly loved anyone.

All those things I did for the people I ‘loved’,
I only did for myself. All those gestures of love,
were only for me to prove the kind of man I am,
the kind of man I have become, or what am I capable of becoming.
The only important thing for me is to prove myself.

I am scared to love, of love, that is the truth I have found
so many ways to lie about.
When one has seen it destroy people, screw lives,
and cause much pain, fear, and hate- attachment
never becomes a way of life. I learned to truly be alone.
I started thinking of love as burden, a hindrance
to things I have yet to achieve or be able to accomplish.

In every relationship, I was committed but still detached.
I look for that elusive connection I failed to find, over and over.
I didn’t realize, it was me. I never held so tight, I never let
the strings strangle me. The only moments I seem to be willing
to give everything, were in those times love seemed impossible.

I  live with  being able to leave anyone or anything anytime I want
and move on with life with such ease. I make myself believe that
it is just the way life happens. I say that no one could complete us
but ourselves. Because I am afraid to give myself away the same
way I am afraid of taking in a part of someone else. I want no
one to complete me because I am afraid that soon enough I could
not live without it. Because I don’t want to be held back.
I have found myself making love and putting my all into it.
In truth, it is the smallest part of my being that I was giving.
I have, above anything else, been true to myself- that is
the big fat lie I kept about who I really am .

 
The facade you have always kept intact makes it hard to see through you,
to see who you really are. Those defenses, the big hopes, and frail
strength that you put up. You try your best to hide the innocent and
fearful child behind the man who has has messed his life up
and since, got up and tried to be that beacon of light to other people.

Pain, that’s the weakness you have turned to an
admirable strength. But you see, through the cracks I could tell.
You’re still that child. You’re a child, trying to never lose in
love by not taking a risk on it.

I feel for the people who have loved you. Not because you have hurt them,
not because you have deliberately destroyed probably every good thing that
love gave you, not because you are not capable of true love. I feel for
them, because you are. And you just won’t let yourself.

Don’t you see? It’s so hard to love someone who won’t let himself be truly loved.

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