I’ve been to hell and back on more than one occasion. I’ve felt the warmth of the devil's fingers as he reached out his hand to stroke my face.
In fact, I’ve been there enough times that I’ve discovered several different escape routes- none of which allowed me to flee unscathed. I’ve managed to turn, and run as fast as I can toward the sun all the while trying not to look back. And while I’ve managed to make it out with my heart somewhat intact, my journeys from the home of darkness and despair have not been easy. My blood and tears have lined the trails I’ve crawled upon, and the scrapes and bruises aren’t noticeable with the human eye. But they’re here. They will always be here.
I’ve come to learn through all of this that there are not many things I fear. (Well, maybe roller coasters, anything to do with my children and the chance that we might one day run out of vodka, but other than that I’d say I’m pretty fearless.)
Save for one thing.
I’m afraid that maybe, just maybe, I might never find my true love. And that notion is something that truly scares me to death.
But I know in this heart of mine, this broken, battle-tested, glorious heart, that if I’m not willing to take a chance then I have fought all these battles for naught.
And to not try- to not believe in true love, would be the most horrible defeat of all.