Most Dangerous Game
Love is the most dangerous game. General Zaroff’s got nothing on me. He hunts big game. He hunts the occasional person. He hunts for sport. He hunts for the thrill. It’s nothing like hunting hearts. It’s nothing like patiently waiting on the sidelines, a constant throbbing pain reverberating inside your hollow chest, watching…waiting as the person you love gives herself to what feels like everyone else but you. To believe with every fucking fiber of your being that you have found that one person you were meant for, that one person you have spent your entire life dreaming about, and to know that to her you are invisible. To her you are no one.
I put my god damned heart right there on the line. I had hoped to reel her in. I had hoped that just like in the movies that the monologue I had recited over and over in my mind for weeks would be enough. I spilled the contents of my soul onto the floor below. I hand fed her everything that I had kept inside for so long. I voiced my discontent. I vocalized my devotion. I exhausted all of my resources. I tried to show her what I could give her. It wasn’t enough. And then I gave up.
I realized the more I pushed this, the more I’d push her away and out of my life, and I was unprepared to accept that as my fate. I was unwilling to say goodbye. I knew from that point on that my feelings would never change. I could never walk away. She didn’t even know it, but I had given her a piece of myself. And I could never get it back. And I knew that the more I got to know her, the closer I grew to her, the more I allowed our friendship to naturally develop–that these emotions would only grow stronger. I knew this. I knew all of this.
I will always think with my heart before I allow my mind any say in my decision making. And my heart knew what the brain refused to accept. Sentimentality versus rationality. Losing her would have been comparable to losing a limb–an affliction that would plague my existence for the duration of my time here on earth. The phantom pains, the altered sense of perception and identity, the crippling effects, the stigmas, the disabilities, the hardships, the difficulties, the sense of losing a part of oneself. This would be my path. This would be my destiny. I knew that keeping her as a friend would destroy me inside. I knew that I might never recover.
But, so it was meant to be. I was willing to take that risk. I was ready to sacrifice my own happiness just to experience a single second of what it was like to be her everything. It would have been prudent for me to have moved on. It would have been easier. It would have perhaps been the right decision for me personally. But, it was not a possibility. I lost all control of my life the day I met her. And that was OK. I had no choice. I never had a choice.
Maybe neither did she.
And then on one not-so special morning I awoke from a night of fitful sleep. I awoke from a night of tortured dreams–reluctantly peeling open my eyes to the unwelcoming light of day– all the while knowing that this day like all the ones preceding existed solely as a way to pass the time until the next one comes. I expected nothing but loneliness and yet much to my dismay awoke to a new chapter of life. To come to anticipate nothing but despair and yet to experience elation is something I find difficult to fully explain to you. Contradictions that dictate my movements, my actions, my every maneuver–they have peppered my daily existence for years. To awake to the face of the girl you have always wanted but never in a million years thought you would get to have–to see her standing there, to see the smile you picture every single fucking night before you finally fall asleep, to hear the voice of the girl who broke your heart so many times without ever knowing it at all… to know that from this point on nothing would ever be the same. It’s something to remember. It’s special. It is.
You don’t know what’s that like. And quite frankly, I’m finding it hard to believe it myself. A flower sits upstairs in a vase. A flower that to me symbolizes more than what it should. It’s a representation of the start of something new–of hope, of dreams, of promise. It has yet to wither. It has yet to drop it’s petals upon the marble vanity below. I stare at every time I pass that room. I can’t explain any of this. Where words typically act as my only ability to communicate my emotions and innermost thoughts–they fail me now. Maybe there just aren’t any words in the dictionary capable of conveying the magnitude of this situation. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know what to do. Except enjoy it.
To finally enjoy that sensation of feeling someone else’s love and devotion. To sense that connection. To experience it. To hold that love and let it sit there in your hands…watching it expand and contract…watching it exist, pumping the blood that runs through her veins–and knowing that it beats because of you. I don’t know where this will go or what to expect. I don’t even know what to do with this. My hands are covered with blood. My body is so warm, but these chills have no chance at going away. That smile once painted upon my face out of some deeply buried desperation and guilt– there only to assuage the fears and nerves of those around me has now been carved out with an exacto knife–permanently etched across my visage. I can’t ever shake it off. It’s real happiness. It’s real joy. It’s real love. It’s utterly and completely undeniable.
I see now why people can so easily fall upon the crutch of religion. It’s a way to explain the unexplainable. Just as we, as human beings, often search out a scapegoat to blame for things we are incapable of dealing otherwise dealing with–religion serves as our go-to in situations that make no sense in any real context–those which defy logic. When we seek comfort we turn to religion. And even me–an atheist by all definitions of the word–find myself struggling with the dilemma of not knowing who to thank for all that is happening to me. Who do I thank for bringing this incredible creature into my life? I don’t know who to devote myself to for granting me this opportunity. But, hell, if God existed I would express my most deepest of gratitude for not resting on the day that she was born.
So, yeah, you see the cynicism oozing out of my pores. I’m losing my rough edges. I’m losing my hard nose. I’m still a realist at heart. I’m still a neurotic female version of Woody Allen. I’m still waiting for the world to crash down around me. But, I refuse to carry an umbrella. I refuse to expect the worse. I’m going to walk with my head held high, pushing these thoughts of devastation to the furthest corner of my mind, allowing cobwebs to consume them–and instead I’m opting to focus on that which inspires me to move forward–on she whose hand I hold and reach for in the dark.
This could backfire on me. I’m risking a lot. I have burned bridges that will never be mended. I have destroyed friendships that were indescribably important to me. I have lost the respect of many in pursuing this relationship. But, they don’t understand. And how could they? I’m the type of person that refuses to put my chips on the table unless I’ve got four aces in my hand. I’m not going all in unless I know that this is the right decision. And I am jumping in head first. I always knew what I could offer her if given the chance. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I never meant to put anyone in a position where there emotions were toyed with or their dreams crushed. I just didn’t have a choice. This is fate. I don’t know how else to explain it. And I don’t try. I can’t.
But, I wouldn’t want it any other way. And I won’t rest until I can wake up beside her every morning.
Until then. Until then, I’ll just wait. And enjoy every moment I have with her. This is what life is all about.