Tuesday, September 18, 2012

BACK IN BLACK

Nature is beautiful in its own freakish way. People, being creatures of nature, are just as freakish.

Pretty orange flowers bloom, wilt, give way to seed heads that are black and spiky and look beautiful and daunting at the same time. People come into your life and blossom — but sooner or later the first blush of infatuation dies, petals fall, and you're left with the core, the essence of what the person is all about.

I don't mind the process, the metamorphosis. It's actually beautiful. Because once the bloom is off, the real joy begins. It's only then that you can really get a grasp on what the other person is really all about. Until then it's all prettified flirtation, nice but essentially meaningless, a dip in the shallow end of the sea. It's only when you submerge that you see the beauty in the deepest water, the strange and wondrous truths that few people get to see.

I'd rather spend years getting to know someone — really know someone — than flit from flower to flower, ocean to ocean. It's hard sometimes, because revelations go both ways. The other person gets to know me and usually, that's when they decide they've made a terrible mistake, I'm not the person they fell in like with. They stammer and avert their eyes and show me the door.

This, of course, is precisely when I stop being in like and start being in love.

The clock strikes midnight and the unmasking takes place. We are no longer flowers; we are changed into something different. Few people are intrigued by the change. They want the flowers to stay beautiful. They want the blooms to last forever.

I should have been artificial. No change. No seeds. No disappointments. Instead I become the seed head, all black and spiky. There may be growth and promise within, but I can't compete with the flower.

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