The
last few weeks I have been trying to find something to inspire me to
write. I think, more than being uninspired, I have been fighting a war
between my head and my heart. I can’t decide if we spend most of life
trying to let our head catch up with our heart, or the other way around.
I think it depends on the circumstance. My constant battle is that my
head and heart are never on the same page. It makes it very hard to
find happiness when you over think everything new, and your heart won’t
let go of the ghosts of loves past. I let my lost loves and tragic
mistakes haunt me. I am so terrified of making the same mistakes over
again that I twist myself into something unrecognizable, a lackluster
version of myself at times.
Some
days, I wake up, and I know exactly who I am, while on others, I still
feel like a lost girl chasing fairy tales. I find solace in putting
together a stylish outfit, having a glass of wine, or watching a
terrible, soapy television show. More than anything, I find my true
peace writing this blog. There is something about baring one’s soul to a
group of friends and a bunch of complete strangers. Nothing makes me
feel more empowered than putting my digits to keys and ending up with
something that I am proud to share. It took me a very long time before I
showed my writing to anyone. I was petrified of being told I was
wasting my time, that what I write is not worth the space it occupies.
That is not one of my worries anymore. I believe in my writing, even
if it is only being read by my best friends. We should share the things
that make us happy. This is what makes writer’s block such a plague.
Even
though I tend to write about matters of the heart, I don’t know how to
write about my struggle now. Everyday I go back and forth between being
smitten and indifference. My heart wants to open itself up to Stefan
but my head stops me. I don’t know if I can handle another heartbreak.
Besides, I don’t really know if we are on that track. That may be my
fault. I don’t want to ruin whatever we are, so I don’t ask, “What we
are doing?” I don’t text him, even when I really want to; I don’t want
to appear clingy. I just enjoy the time we do spend together. When he
is here, when he kisses me hello, it is like all my worries fall away.
I
don’t know what to feel because I don’t want to have unrealistic
expectations. I don’t know what to write, because I don’t want to put
on paper my foolish dreams of potential happiness. The plans I wish I
had the courage to make with Stefan just make me that silly girl again.
Is it better to be sensible or should we believe in fairy tales?
