live in love.

i never thought i was the “going in circles” type.

until i met you.

we have a sickeningly familiar story.  i know the cycle by heart, as do the friends who have apparently done something wrong enough in their past lives to have to listen to my endless whinings on my love life.  we do the same thing every time.

so often, we try to define love and relationships.  we try and find out who the victim is, who’s hurt and who’s hurting, who has a broken heart and who’s a heartbreaker.  we draw lines with permanent marker, throw accusing looks, say what we believe to be true because, at the end of the day, it’s infinitely easier to define things in black and white rather than to try and dissect the mess that broken love truly is.  at the end of the day, or, rather, the relationship, there are almost always two broken hearts and two heartbreakers.  there are never easy explanations, sharpie lines, clear-cut answers.  there are, however, a million shades of grey, two hurting people, and seemingly no way out.  the only tangible thing is the pain, and it hurts.  a lot.

it’s more than hurt.  it’s hurt, drowning, burning, claustrophobia, pulling, pulsating, and, worst of all, it’s that goddamn awful feeling of being completely alone again.  at the end of another failed relationship, another failed attempt at true, lasting, be-all-end-all, fairy tale, ridiculous love, the only thing we have to curl up on the pillow beside us is that horrible, consuming, overwhelming feeling of being completely alone in the universe because the one person who was supposed to fully and unconditionally understand us is now completely and abruptly gone.

i’m not standing at the end of the cycle, heartbroken.  i’m at the beginning, staring at the cycle, wondering whether or not to set foot in because, like all the other times, i’m hoping that somehow, the path of the cycle changed, that i can make the path of the cycle change.  i’m hoping that, instead of a circle, there’s a line- a line straight to that love that everyone talks about, the kind that makes it impossible for other people to be around you because everything you do with each other is passionate and intimate.  i’m hoping for an end to the cycle.  i’m looking for a finish line.

the fact of the matter is, though, that there is no other path, and i’m not at the beginning of the circle, because circles have no beginnings or ends.  it’s either there or it’s not, and you’re either on it or you’re not.  and it doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself that you’re nearing a beginning or an end, or how many times you convince yourself that your circle will magically change shape, because at the end of the day, a circle is a circle and you standing on it certainly won’t make it change.

i’m running a circle, and i keep breaking, and i don’t know what to do anymore.  and the scariest part is that i think some sick part of me likes the broken part, because i’m still, still, still hoping that he’ll fix me.  but he won’t, because in relationships, fixing means breaking down and starting over, and you can’t start a circle over.

because there is no beginning, and there is definitely no end.