An overly confessional confession

*Too much drama about this post. This is the state of my heart, people, and I feel like sharing it here. No, it's not about one person. Part of my confusion is the fact that a whole slew of things have piled into my heart in a few months. Pains, excitements, joys, heartbreaks--all as a single woman for the first time. So do not read yourself into this post, no matter who you are. It is a conglomeration of everything. 

Sometimes it's hard being a confessional person.

There are times that I'm aware of it, and I realize that I should keep more things in. I should guard my heart a little more closely. I should be careful to whom I spill my thoughts and feelings.

Part of being a confessional person, however, is that itch. If you're similar you know exactly what I'm talking about. If I haven't shared part of myself for a certain period of time I become restless. I start looking for ways to share. I seek out a person with whom I can unload.

You'd think that prayer or a private journal would be helpful for a confessional person. But those of us who long to share our hearts understand that a large part of the process is the response from another. Physical words and feedback.

I say all this because the need to write about the struggles in my heart has become unbearably strong, yet I must still watch my words and what I reveal.

The heart of a woman is a treacherous environment. I knew that it was treacherous when I was dating the Monolith. He got to experience it firsthand, poor man. Assaulted by my fears and doubts, then soothed by love and pride in him, then shunned by my misgivings and hesitations.

But you know what I'd forgotten?

The heart of a woman is also treacherous to herself. The lack of feelings. The presence of feelings. The questions about worth, about motivation, about attraction. Feelings unmet. Impossible feelings. Impossible situations. Dangerous feelings. Dangerous situations.

This treacherous heart of mine is in turmoil. It feels pulled and manipulated, soothed, pursued, confused, longing, doubtful, fearful, hesitant, nervous, excited, sorrowful, desperate, rebellious, open, and hopeful.

This wildly complicated heart of mine has only been free for a short time. Folks, she's not out of practice. She has no practice. Somehow my fluttering heart simply fell into the hands of others along the way. She's never had to weigh things, gauge words and actions, or make hard choices.

She doesn't know what to do when a man declares his feelings. She doesn't know what to do when a man won't declare any feelings. She doesn't know what to do with her intense and new feelings. She warms at the slightest pursuit by a man and shrivels at the slightest indication of disinterest. She blossoms at thoughtful gestures, grand and small, and she wilts at silence. She's young, naive, easily swayed, and entirely too romantic.

Sometimes she just really bugs me.

One thing is the same though, and it's the main reason she's shiny and new right now:

More than anything in the world, she longs to be captured by a man. She longs to be pursued like mad, pursued like nothing in the world exists except her and the knowledge of her depths. She wants to be known, held, understood, cherished, and kept safe. She wants a man to love the body, mind, and soul she beats within, and she wants him to find it a joy and a thrill to unlock her mysteries.

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Ah, my precious heart. Someday, my love.