The truth of the matter is that sometimes being a coward is a choice. I have been a coward many times and the most damaging part of that is that I got the darn disease of free willing it implanted by a cherished person who insisted that the valiant only lives so long as the coward wants although it sounds better in Spanish cause that’s how I heard it first. Honor cultures always have more sayings about bravery than Anglo-saxon based cultures, thinketh me then again there is always Shakespeare “Cowards die many times before their deaths, The valiant never taste of death but once.” Julius Caesar (II, ii, 32-37). You’d think that after so many years that would have hit home but it really hasn’t. One thing is understanding the mechanisms of syntax but another implanting the behavior. Am sure there is a hell for things where the crux and the defining juncture for trails to blaze are so patently clear that a wrong choice just damn ruins every other step until hell in its nicer pavement arrives just there laughing at the effort of good intentions. Besides, if the syntax is correct, then dying only once for bravery while alive means more than a certain death of dreams, hopes and desires.

Love is my crux, the juncture filled with good intentions. It’s painfully obvious that I have made many a mistake and every time I choose wrong it certainly feels that my ticket to happiness just got out of dodge. Ever wonder why people get crushes that never seem to actualize? What the heck is that all about anyways? I come from a culture where belief in predetermination is the answer and cure for just about any mysticism that engulfs our daily chores so a crush is a major thing. A crush is like the Call of the Wild except that it is for life. A crush is the beginning of an end, a life long fulfillment filled with accomplishments. Who knows how many crushes I’ve had but certainly, there have been a few for every decade of my life. Right now am struggling with one, and she is a major one, as are all of the other ones. She is perfect in the sense that it is pure emotion and not carnal, if you will. Am not attracted to her because of her looks or so I think, it would be a plus if you will, but it is beyond that.

The problem is that I know the futility of the enterprise by heart. The roller-coaster of emotions involved  is a myriad of mental illusions that I call with endearment Illusions of Grandeur. Girls. Whether married or single always drive one more nuts than they can handle. Easy for them to ignore. Hard for us let go.

My medicine to this peculiar problem is to ignore and desist. It’s a nice cowardly act were no one gets hurt. Good intention of course. The inferno that follows is a series of mental attrition with no respite at all. The juncture becomes a Medusa and the snakes all the possible paths that could of have been. This isn’t made any easier since life with all its mysticism likes to joke with humanity at all levels. Messages are discerned in every act, ad or image.

Letting go of a crush amounts to giving up. A dream, a desire, a hope goes back to that black hole it originated from and left is the wait for the next mystic appearance of that magic being that will turn us head over heals and crash galaxies of destinies in a big bang of sorts.

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