I left most of my heart with my first love.
My former husband has half of the rest.
And I give a complimentary slice to each and every guy I crush on. Every single time I see them.
The brutal, often graphic ways in which ones very soul is gouged and left tattered and ravaged after a failed relationship can be crippling at the very least. In fact, being in love and being gripped with terror are extremely similar feelings.
The heart races, hands get clammy, cold, but also sweaty, the mind races and the voice can’t seem to cooperate with the brain to expel whatever sounds are necessary. Both situations usually end in tragedy. At least when being terrorized you might die and never have to experience the ordeal again. But love leaves you alive, somehow with your heart bleeding out in the hands of another, and pats you on the butt toward the next sadist promising chocolates and candlelight dinners.
Survivors in horror movies and those that seem lucky at love perhaps also share a lot in common. Their tactics for survival involve knowing who, or what, they are dealing with, learning from the mistakes of others, and eventually outwitting even the most cunning of suitors.
Blinded By The Shamika 