Cunt for dessert?

For years, I maintained my armour. In spite of circumstance, I always had the trump card hidden ready for the worst case scenario, the bullet I could fire should love's hateful teeth gnarl at my heel. Any temporary pleasure was by no means worth the subsequent pain, which I considered imminent.

The number of times I laughed and shrugged, when my heart was full of fear or insecurity; how often I inadvertently portrayed myself in the worst light possible, purely to prevent anyone from knowing my true vulnerability.

The protective mechanisms were multiple, and yet my cards were on the table, open to anyone who chose to read them. A friend who psychoanalysed me, tearing apart my every shield, accused me of having 'a guard that is no guard'. My defence was my outright blatancy, a raucous laugh and a willingness to tell 'all'.

Only, 'all' did not encompass any emotional depth, only a series of experiences and facts that barely scraped the surface. An openness which betrayed the very meaning of truth, which only showed what I wanted to be seen.

I haven't changed, and probably never will. My true complexity lies in my ability to conceal emotion and feign nonchalance, to read situations before reacting and behave in a way I consider to be the best means of avoiding heartache. In having your heart broken, the final blow is the loss of dignity. Retain that at all costs.

And yet, somehow, I'm not afraid anymore. That has changed. I can acknowledge that I'm vulnerable, and I've even allowed my partner to see that side of myself. I've let go of my obsession with 'Who holds the whip', and allowed some form of truce.

I embarked on this relationship tentatively, knowing the potential outcome. I know that I could come out of this more entirely fucked than ever before, but I decided to take that risk, it wasn't put upon me. I'll face the consequences if and when I need to. It doesn't mean to say that every step I take isn't cautious, just that I've thrown caution to the wind.

Fuck it, you only live once. And if the proof of the pudding is that love is a cunt, I'll enjoy the cuisine in the meantime.