It’s funny how such diminished memories can become so vidid again at just the suggestion of them.

This will be a short blog at the risk of giving away too much. But suffice to say, I think I am in love.

It’s hard to tell. Afterall, they are just words. But why is my heart pounding so fast? It’s not just the speed of the beat. It’s the implication. Almost as if the excitement of it is pleading with destiny. Or throwing it’s hands up and screaming “Yes! It is you, afterall! I have been awaiting your return for so long and I didn’t even know it!”

This time I will be fearless. This time I will not care if I get  my heart broken. I will not avoid rejection at the risk of walking away thinking I should have said more. I will not hold it against him for being nice. I will not want to cry every time he does or says something sweet to me. I will not hate him if he tells me “I love you.” I will not go running at the first sign that he has the power to break my heart. I will be a fucking person and I will say how I feel and if he kisses me, God damn it, I will kiss him back. And I will close my eyes and I will flick away all my insecurities and I will eagerly enjoy it. I will not blame him for every time someone else hurt me. I will not sit ten feet away because I can’t stand the way he makes my skin burn every time he touches me. When there are two voices in my head, one of them is saying “He’s the one who could make me miserable,” and the other is saying “He’s the one who could make me happy,” I will listen to the latter.

For once. I will not be afraid of love. Because it’s all I want. And whether I’m ready for it or not, love is here.

If you know me well enough, this blog entry narrows it down to three people. And I know what all three of you are thinking. But I will say this. Only one of you is right. And that’s the one not even reading to begin with.

Even as I write this. The fear is… engulfing. Even as I write this, I hate you for making me feel this way about you.

Not again. Please. The last time I was here, it didn’t end so well.

Oh, shut up, Jeanette. This time will be different. I swear. It has to be.

It’s Christmas. This is my love, actually.