And even still, I am loved.

Mayday, dear reader! I have a confession to make, one that I do not take lightly: I have fallen in love. I, a woman who revels in being unobtainable, unavailable (and particularly sumptuous in underwear.) A dame who practices the art of the tease and wields her power over all kinds of characters for the sake of the adventure of life. I have fallen, so deep and so hard there will never be any hope of finding my way out. My heart has sewn this man into the fabric of my being, and I am enjoying every vulnerable, mind-numbing second. I have forsaken all other lovers, the entire harem of them. What kind of man could cause such a woman, with such a rich inner life, and such potential for malevolence to be rendered into a useless pile of jello?

It was the smile. He looks at me like I am precious to him. His eyes penetrate my skin and see me to my core, and yet somehow, he still finds me beautiful. My confidence is shaken. I am afraid, but I cannot stop myself from moving forward. Anything that draws me towards him is a step in the right direction.

What do I do now, that I have succumbed to such delicious emotion? For now, I shall do nothing more than enjoy it, and try not to run away screaming because I am afraid to be found out as a fraud. What will he say if I admit that all my confidence is just posturing and pretending and underneath it all I am just as scared as everyone else? I lack significant direction, and I am so afraid that if I do not immortalize myself in some way, I will simply cease to exist. Lost to history, to time, and to the hearts of past lovers who could not bear to behold the painful luminance of my soul long enough to love me. Men who fled, tripping and falling on the way, destined to forever recall the blinding light of a girl they could not find the courage to adore.

Yet ironically, I speak as if I have ever had more than a fleeting kiss of courage. I, who spends so much time pretending not to be broken that I can hardly remember if I poured this cup of juice last night, or this morning. I am, just as crazy as I sound and self-deprecating enough to use "the c-word" because I feel unhinged enough that the negative connotation seems warranted. I should be beautiful, but instead, I am broken. And even still, I am loved.

What thing, to be loved and broken. Unworthy and yet, adored. What a delicious conundrum. What a brilliant reason to continue choosing to take this journey, as painful as it can be. I hope that you too choose to continue the adventure and search for love where you can find it. Do not mistake my intention, as though I speak of romantic love it is not the only or even the best kind of love. I have only survived this long because of the love of my friends and chosen family. Without them, I would have wallowed my way into a shallow grave long ago, and the adventure of death is not one that you should rush off to. It is meant to be enjoyed after a long and complicated struggle against time, the elements, and all sorts of man-made problems. I realize that speaking kindly of death is often frowned upon, but I see no use in making an enemy of the inevitable. I hope to die with the knowledge that I sampled as many of the delicious experiences this part of the galaxy has to offer as time (and my budget,) would allow. I hope to earn lots of wrinkles, and dimples, and memorable scars. I hope to thrill the world with my positively true stories that appear larger than life. but often are not. I hope to greet death knowing that I left nothing untested, no wild fancy untried, no flavor untasted.

I hope that my love and I grow old enough to face death together. And I hope you, dear friend, grow along with us.