She was asked once if she thought there were a difference between loving someone and falling in love. She said of course. Then they asked what one comes first. That she didn't know, she guesses the falling. She doesn't want to. She hates the falling. We call it falling rather than rising for in it is the fall. She told people she feared heights, and for her falling in love was the same thing. The constant trepidation that at any moment she could just fall.
She didn't always have a persistent, irrational fear of giving her heart to another. This wasn't hereditary nor organic, simply constructed from insight and exposure. He was a bad medication, yet as addictive as any potent drug. Their relationship expensive ye the emotions cheap. People tell her he wasn't a bad romance, and that he was no romance at all. She would say, of course but I did love him. You don't give people you don't love the power to destroy you. She's right in a sense. Because she really did love him. She had tried so hard, harder than you can imagine. But now she's here, trying her best to forget everything. Every piece of him, the way he smells and the feel of his skin. Though she can still feel him, she thinks she always will.
