I often wonder how I manage to be both a romantic and a cynic. Maybe it's a skill reserved only for those who have been burned.. but still love to watch fireworks?
Sometimes I catch myself day-dreaming about finding Mr. Right; when in truth I would be much more likely to hurry past him with my head down, praying he didn't notice me. You see, when I fall in love I do so with my whole self. Every fibre of my being is poured into my lover, and I find that in my haste I have reserved nothing for myself. Having spent years mending my heart, I am reluctant to open it again for fear of my soul spilling out.
There's a small part of me though, a tiny space within the walls I have created, that longs for the moment when I can look into someone's eyes and really see myself as they see me. Not as this neurotic, broken shadow.. but as a woman who is loved.
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