A Permanent State of Sixteen-ish-ness

For me, being ‘in love’ thrusts me into a permanent state of sixteen-ish-ness.

It’s humiliating, as an adult, to watch my behaviour from the outside – makes me squeamish at my own sad, cheesiness.
I can count a half a dozen man in my life whom I obsessed like this over, whom I clung to and coveted and…eventually, made a damn fool of myself over.
Ironically, if I didn’t have any feelings for a man I could be a downright maneater – it was a lovely, powerful feeling to not expect something of a bloke and get much more than you planned for.

That’s what The Man always offered – much more than I could hope for.
As soon as I wanted…no, needed more, then he had less to give.

I had a good friend, when The Man and I went rotten, who got caught up in the idea of us running away and licking each other’s wounds perhaps.
And I remember saying to him that I cared about him too much to start something with him when we were both sad and hurt – that two sad people trying to fill the gaps in each other’s lives were doomed to hurt each other all over again.
So now The Man and I are both sad and hurt and we can’t help making it worse.
Even stopping it cold…still hurts.