What is love? What is forgiveness? Who are we, really?

I thought I knew what love was, once.  But when the clock struck midnight, and the masks were lowered, the only thing left realized was that I hadn’t loved myself.  I lived according to expectations.  All that I was, all that I had become, was the sum of many parts.  I lived according to the image many others had built up in me over the years.  I’ve spent precisely a year now attempting to correct this path; not so much out of necessity (though indeed, it is), but more out of consequence.  I’ve become much more tempered, much less compassionate.  I’m definitely edgy; though not necessarily in a bad way.   No more Pearl Harbors.  No more Alamos.  I’m an emotional Minuteman now, if you will.  It’s taken me a year to get to this point, through a mass of emotional scarring the kind of which I would never care to experience again. 

There are some of you who have read my blog who might perhaps think I’m an asshole.  Hey, I may now be an asshole, but I’ll never be a fuckin’ asshole.  There’s quite the difference.  But… am I merely fooling myself?  Is this hardened exterior merely another façade?  Or is this just some sort of futile barrier which entombs a still fragile heart?  I once loved with everything I felt I had, never questioning the future; placing my heart squarely within the hands of another.  Sometimes you love others; then there are times when you are in love with another.  In this day in age, it would seem that a man endures at least 2 great loves in his life.  He could be with hundreds of women throughout his life; but still only 2 great loves come out of it.  Maybe even three, if you live long enough.  Despite the ultimate misfortune of it all, I’m still lucky to say that I’ve endured one great love so far.  But love itself seemed not to endure.  But what is love?  What is forgiveness?  We’re raised and taught by our families to love and forgive; but apparently somewhere along the line we’re expected to no longer honor this core principle which had been instilled so deeply within us.  There are times as children, when we would implore our parents to forgive our misdeeds.  And with a firm hand, they would; but love always prevailed.  Where then does love stop?  Why does it no longer seemingly apply? 

I have been asked for forgiveness.  Well, more than that, really.  Consider the parable of the Prodigal Son.  But does forgiveness involve acceptance with open arms?  I don’t even want to think about love, for I now fear it.  I used to know who everyone thought I was; now I’m uncertain as to whom I think I am.   What does love mean?  What does it mean to forgive?  Who have you all built me up to be?  What does everybody want from me?

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