All Too Well

Unfortunately, I decided to put in my earphones and really listen to Taylor Swift’s new long version release of All Too Well.

Here’s the thing. I’m 63 years old – more than past the days of romantic heartbreak, yes? I mean, shouldn’t I be? Then why am I sitting in my office, tears running unchecked, as I listen to a young woman remember her first love?

Why, after all this time, do I still long for, need, hope for a happy ever after in every book, song, movie, and relationship?

Loneliness is a weird, dangerous thing. It’s insidious and omnipresent. It can lie dormant for months, years even, then suddenly it’s this roaring lion that awaits you as you unsuspectingly open the door to your room. There is no escaping it and no ignoring it. No amount of cynicism or faux wisdom or flippancy will help.

All it takes is a song or a smell or a wisp of some memory you forgot to lock down in the basement of your heart. Some button that activates all the pain and bad decisions and there’s no going back. Ever.

We all want things to work out. We can talk a good game, keep on dancing, and pretend that we are too cool for school. But you and I both know it’s bullshit.

So I’m going to blow my nose, go get some more coffee, and go back to bleeding on the paper, as it were. But I remember it all too well, too. And it still hurts like a bitch.