Overripe words on love and fear

Anything that gives us pleasure, makes us happy can pass into a need, an addiction that gives pain by its absence.

As pop songs, movies and thousands of damaged lives attest romantic love can be the deadliest addiction. Combining the contingencies of two lives the risks are high. When love seems to falter every hour seems perilous. You live in fear. If love dies most of a person's life may be wasted in mourning. (Been there, toss a decade and half away: don't you be so foolish.)

Charles has been variously distant and angry for the last week. His mood may spring from the change in medication. However elastic I sometimes fancy myself the sheer fear that we might not stay together - well, you've heard the songs, seen the movies, maybe lived through it yourself.
Then his fingers move across my shoulder. A terrible oppression recedes. But I know it will return.

As much as I want to love and be loved is it worth the confusion and pain. Maybe my days would be better is my heart was on an icy peak, alone, aloof.

Not that I may not be flattering myself with my powers of independence. The days when a tentative glance would bring a nice fellah to my lap are long gone. I've grayed, I dare not smile for fear of showing my teeth.

If my age were halved would I be gone already secure in knowing that a suggestion of interest from me could bring a delicate young man my way. Who could be so foolish as to ignore their own sexual charisma?

Really I do love Charles. I want to be there for him. Without the head on my shoulder my own strength dies. A funny, sad strength that finds its power only in the need of the other. I confess my weakness. I humble myself in my need of tenderness.

Those of you reading my confession of fear can't do anything for me. Nothing at all. There is only my hope that in stating it baldly I'll recover the power to move on to the next day.