Some people might say I avoid things.
Okay, a lot of people might (and do) say I avoid things (and people and places).
I might even say I avoid things.
I avoid things.
What is it exactly that I am avoiding, though? It's too easy just to say that I have social anxiety. It's too easy to say that I am simply a homebody. It's too easy to make up excuses.
In a second I might get a bit romantic in a melodramatic way. I warned you.
I believe I avoid broken hearts.
I went on a short walk tonight. It was the time of night when everything in the sky feels like it is on pause and is just about to be fast forwarded. You can't tell whether or not you should turn your headlights on in your car. You can see the sun and the moon. Kids are still playing outside; or at least the older ones. And it's so beautiful, it's so breathtakingly beautiful with the orange clouds and silhouetted mountains and the acceptance that another day, good or bad, has passed. So you let it pass and suddenly - so suddenly that you may not even notice it has happened - it is dark. The stars take over once the sun slips under her covers, coyly. The sky is still alive, but it's undoubtedly (and predictably) different. Shapes form from the shadows (sometimes within the shadows), temperatures drop significantly, and the hum of insects not seen fills the space we left behind. We are inside now, wrapped up in our controlled environment, hiding away from the now-alien world outside. If there's no light on, why look?
And so yes, I believe I avoid broken hearts. And what we avoid will inevitably come looking for us in the middle of the night. I've got my flashlight, I'm ready.