Love-pandemonium

The heart is a voracious force. I remember now. At thirty-four, I catch myself feeling giddy at the concepts and designs for people and personalities in a love-pandemonium.

These are things I reveled in everyday a decade ago. Then I got smarted and lost my smarts… along with my backbone, apparently. I spent a lot of time doing what everyone else was doing and not enough time doing what I should have been doing. Still… I wasn’t alone in that stupid. There are a lot of numb people out there.

This isn’t about anti-depressants or alcohol and I’m not talking about love or even a love-game-chase. I just mean that I catch myself feeling giddy at the concepts and designs for people and personalities in a love-pandemonium.

This is awake. I’m a big fan and I would recommend it to anyone. I never had to audition for this role in my life story. I just got the part and that’s all I have to do. Show up for it every single day because, as they say: life is short. Which led me to this: what will be here when I am gone? What mark no matter how big or small will this earth have to show that I was here?

That I felt, that I walked, that I cried tears but that I made so many people smile? That I achieved so much of what I set out to do? That I changed somebody’s life forever and for the better? That I pissed some people off because I told them what they already knew but didn’t want to hear? That I looked at each of my newborn baby nieces and nephews and felt a yen like no other before or since? That I cry when I watch wedding videos on YouTube, laugh unintentionally when something awful happens to someone I know; that I say the wrong thing far too often, am impulsive yet generous to a fault and that, still, I’ve lived more than many people get to do, have loved wholeheartedly more than many people get to love and haven’t had to say too many sorrys, yet.

The heart is a voracious force. I remember now. At thirty-four I catch myself feeling giddy about a love-pandemonium.

And when I’m gone? But I’m not. I’m still here.

© Dylan Balkind

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