Honestly, I'm weary of working to figure this stuff out. I woke up this morning worn out from dreaming about women leaving. I couldn't tell who was staying and who was going.
I remember more than one therapist trying to explain to me that I had issues regarding my father, whom I never met, whether I could call them up or not. I talked to him on the phone once about ten years ago. He may still be alive. I don't know.
Maybe the terrifying fact of abandonment has more to do with my fragile state than my failure of romance. Who knows? Who cares?
It's hard to face the fact that I'm far more damaged and wrecked than I have ever wanted to consider. I cry when sad dog songs come on the radio. It happened yesterday when Fred Eaglesmith came on. I fall apart when I stumble upon sad girls, too. What kind of over-inflated ego jumps to the conclusion that an individual might help?
I still worry about that one-legged seagull who wasn't getting his share of bread crumbs sixty years ago. I wouldn't change this crazy behavior if I could. I wouldn't want to.
Pray for peace. Search for truth. Settle for love.