Jumping off a cliff

Love is never accidental. Love is conscious, love is an effort, only your decision, although you rarely realize it before it is too late. There's a moment, there's always a moment, right? There is always a moment when you surrender to this feeling, decide that it is her, close your eyes to things worth seeing, ignore all the “buts”. Love is the smile of an idiot on his face, it is a loss of memory, a confusion of mind. It's the proverbial jump or step off a cliff, if you will.

Standing over the abyss, peering into the fog, into such familiar, but for some reason every time incomprehensible outlines below, you know exactly what awaits you. Then, after a while, it is rarely possible to remember the last step after which it is too late. You get dizzy from the height, it gets dark in your eyes, but you take this step yourself, no one pushes you.

You always break. The only difference is the length of the fall. Well, in the period of rehabilitation after, when you collect yourself in pieces and for some reason again find yourself on the rock.

And no matter how unique she is, she is not the only one. Or not the last, to be completely cynical. We choose what to believe.

I am always surprised that the obvious secondaryness of emotions and experiences does not stop, does not protect from another fall. With what blind ecstasy and eagerness I give myself entirely to a new self-repeat. I didn’t forget, I remember how it was then, with the same one, and with the other, before that. I remember well (and everything is recorded in detail) how I was just as literally choking with emotions, afraid to lose it or never to get it, as I crumbled to pieces from helplessness, when it seemed that everything was lost, that it would never be like this again. It won't be real.

But as I find myself face to face with yet another future disappointment, with a kind of blind obstinacy, I repeat to myself over and over again that this time is different.

Like drugs or alcohol, after which you invariably have a monstrous hangover and a lost empty day, but you overturn the first pile, sniff the first track, and you can no longer stop. And no memory of the headache and embrace of a white friend can not overshadow the secondary, but at the same time paradoxically new feeling, when absolutely everything recedes into the background. You just get so fucking high.

Perhaps the whole point is to believe each time as the first, as the only. Because love does not tolerate conditions, quotation marks and caution, it can only be real. A jump with a rope behind your back will not be the same. Only the irreversibility of stepping into the abyss makes the flight truly clean.


I look at these lines and I don’t believe myself. It's all self-deception, cunning. Trying to calm yourself, coming to terms with circumstances, with reality. All this talk about plenty of fish in the sea, about the next bus, all this nonsense. Each time is unique and will never happen again. Today’s combination of events, words, actions, smiles, messages, plans, coincidences, evenings, this crazy cocktail of emotions and experiences, you can never get anything like that. Any new name in your life changes you irrevocably, next time there will be a completely different person on the rock, not you. However, all this is true only for those rare cases when the feeling is real.

And the problem is, I know it's real, alive. And even when everyone around is advised to forget, score, leave, when it is already clear that nothing but sharp stones is waiting for me, when you already see that you are about to break, it is not the upcoming pain that frightens you. I don’t want to change again, I don’t want to be different because I don’t know who I’m going to be next time, because today I’m the best version of myself, the person I’ve always wanted to be.

Even when everyone says that sooner or later I will forget, and everything will be fine, and I will still laugh and joke about these experiences, I understand only one thing. Yeah, it goes away. But here and now, it's fucking real, I know that. The older you get, the more clearly you understand where the real is and where it is not. And I'm being forced to give it up, kill it and gut it down the toilet. You can cut off your hand, and the stump will heal, and you can live without a hand, maybe even for some moments forget that it ever was, right? But you won't be the same. There's less and less of you each time.

I sometimes envy those of you who have never fallen in love. Perhaps there is a beauty in being the same person all your life, not giving half of yourself to another, being whole. But I'm not ready to switch places with you. There is little to compare to the magic of a free fall after a blind jump. Each of you chickened out at the time, retreated, turned back at the moment when it was necessary to make a decision, because it takes remarkable courage to even carry a foot over the abyss. But I'm sure there was a moment. There's always a moment.

But I also remember how long it took me to climb that rock again, to take the last step. I am well aware that each time it becomes more difficult, that one day the fear of falling will finally overpower the emotions, and I will refuse, turn around, go back. And that it won't be like that anymore. Won't be genuine.published

P.S. And remember, just by changing our consciousness, we change the world together!



Source: dansilov.livejournal.com/