Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing.
I just stop, and look at the mess around me, and the way that emotions make me feel, and I wonder why I keep on doing it.
Sometimes I wish that you actually could burn out the emotions that happen when something good doesn’t work out. Sometimes I’d like to not feel, to not have that grip around my heart, that empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I’d really like to be able to eat something without wanting to immediately throw it right back up. I’d really like to feel that I want to eat at all.
And yet, in the moment, oh my god, in the moment, that sense, that rush, that swell of emotion that engulfs me when I drop my guard, and let myself feel. How could I give that up?
It’s like a drug, and I know I’m addicted.

The sense of belonging, even for just a while, is something I need. Walking along the seafront at five in the morning, your arm round my waist, mine around yours, the smell of your hair as it occasionally blows into my face, how could I want to forget that?
And yet now, when I see that’s likely the only time I’ll know that moment with you, there’s a part of me that almost wishes it wasn’t real. The sadness of knowing that’s all there ever will be is crushing, and that pain, that’s something I wish I didn’t have. That’s something that never changes.
My problem is that I feel. All of our problems are that we feel. Feelings are the worst, and yet, I keep on doing them. We keep on doing them.
When we kissed you said you don’t do feelings. You told me that I make you feel, and I told you that maybe just for now, right at this moment, feelings are okay. They needn’t last forever, they can just be about the moment.
I was right, but I was also wrong. Feelings start in the moment, but they don’t always stop there. Sometimes they carry on, and they follow you around, like a shadow you can’t see, always a little behind you, but there none the less.
Fucking feelings. They eat me up, and stop me from being okay.
And I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know where to put them when they become memories. I don’t know how to feel about how to feel.
Friends tell me that I need to protect myself better, to develop a tougher exterior, but I don’t want to harden up. I don’t want to build a shell to protect myself, even though it would be the sensible thing to do. I’m afraid that if I do, it’ll make me cold. I’m afraid that I’ll no longer be able to feel anything at all. And yet I know the stark truth in this, as if I didn’t feel then I wouldn’t have to spend days, weeks, months getting over people, and I wouldn’t feel that sadness that walks alongside me in those times.
But I’m afraid of losing the ability to feel just the same. Like I said before, it’s a drug.

I leaned in close to your ear, and asked if I could kiss you. You leaned in as well, and as our lips touched I felt the rushing of blood through my body, the tingling of nerve endings, the softness of your mouth, and the gentle warmth of your tongue as it discovered mine. It felt like everything else dissolved away, even though we were surrounded by a hundred other people, and the music was so loud.
Your hand touches my face, and as we kiss you slowly stroke my cheek. My skin prickles with goosebumps, but it’s not from the sharpness of the winter night.
My god, those feelings. They run rampant through my soul, and make me realise that this is what life is about. Connections and emotions. Links between people, delicate and strong, like spider silk, weaving lives together, sometimes fleetingly, sometimes forever.
Those glorious, burning, heart ripping feelings.
And we can never win. It’s like a glacier, a huge unrelenting emotional glacier. We chip away at its vast hulk, trying to get a foothold whilst all the while it keeps on coming.
We can climb to the top, only to look around and realise it’s so vast, so uncharted, that we were foolish to even think we could ever claim it as ours alone.
I need to feel, even when I don’t want to feel. I need to know what it is to keep the glacier at bay. I need the warmth from another, I need the warmth from you.
I know given time I’ll forget what this feels like. I know this because when I do feel like this I remember the times it’s happened before. I remember the feelings, the magnificent, all consuming intense and beautiful feelings. I remember all the feelings, even the gut wrenching, all engulfing, salty sharp feelings.
The happiness, the sadness, and everything that lives in the gaps between.
Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing.
Then I remember, and I realise why even if I could, I’d never give this up. How could I ever let go of those glorious, burning, heart fucking feelings?
How could I even think that was an option?