Flame Games

When you really love something, it's funny how willing you are to go back to it.

This all became clear to me when I asked my mom if we could go back to Vero Beach this spring with our remaining timeshare points.

"But you got stung by a jellyfish there, why would you want to go back?" She said.

Being stung by a jellyfish hurt. If you have never been stung by one, consider yourself blessed. If you have, then you know that the pain literally leaves you speechless. The pain is so extraordinary that you barely even process it until you've come back to the shore to lay down and ask yourself, what the fuck just happened? But it never stopped me from going back to the beach and going back into the ocean.

Overanalyzing this epiphany, as writers often do, I began to realize this was true of many aspects in my life. Getting burnt by the match didn't stop me from lighting my favorite Anthropologie candle (Volcano). Getting sick from Penn Station sushi didn't stop me from ordering Philadelphia rolls at just about every chance I get. But most importantly it made me realize that I would be willing to go back to anyone I love (friends, family, boys) even if there is a chance of getting "stung" again.

Maybe it's the Aries in me. Stubborn, headstrong, brave. But I like to think of it as more than that. They  (They being the Tumblr/Twitter posts I stumble across late at night when I drank too much coffee after 5 p.m.) often say "Don't get burned by the same flame twice." I guess I don't believe in that. I guess I'd rather go for that flame until it completely burns out. Until there is nothing left to keep alive, and there's only ashes left.

However, the worst part is still trying to reignite a flame out of nothing but ashes. And I know that too.

And while I still hope for that flame to re-ignite, hopefully this time with a flame that would won't burn me, it's like wishing for the ocean to be free of jellyfish.

And for now, I'd rather take my chances. I'm still going in the ocean.