No One Sees Me

Logically, ninjas don't dress up in all black since that makes them noticable. They instead wear normal people clothes, and you don't know that they're a ninja until you've received a roundhouse kick to your sternum while trying to get sushi. Love is the same way. You are walking along when all of a sudden, your heart is in your throat, your genitals are under attack, and you are no longer able to control your emotions. You never see it coming. It could be the dimpled Pizza Hut driver or a TV star or a friend of a friend. You think you're meeting someone new or paying for food that you ordered, and bam, you are on your ass, wondering what happened.

Now, once you've been kicked once, your life is never the same. Your body tries to prepare itself for the next ambush, because even though love didn't go all Terminator, you don't want to get ambushed again. You get in tune with your organs and begin to postulate. If my heart beats too fast, it's gonna happen. If I have a wet dream, it's going to happen. If I see those dimples again, you bet your ass it's going to happen. You rework the hallways of life and try to only take certain paths to avoid another ambush. But, it never works. Whether they fall out the walls or you just get a roundhouse kick in the back, love always finds you and reminds you that it is everywhere and nowhere.

Eventually, you stop trying. It doesn't matter anymore. You know that no matter what, you are going to get hit and hit hard, so you just accept it. The bruises become internalized, your bones harden to the blows, and you are able to take more hits and not stay down so long. But then comes a fatal blow. You are walking one day and you see someone special. Maybe it's their eyes, maybe it's their ass, maybe it's their sense of humor, but the Mortal Kombat "Finish Them" flashes by and you feel the most poainful hit of your life.

That fatal hit stays forever. Even if you never see that person again, any song or picture or correct set of words can make the pain of that finishing move return and knock you back on your ass. The people that live to be over 100 seem to never have anyone in their lives anymore. Soulmates are organic and eventaully break down. They have heart attacks, strokes, are prone to getting shot and running into knives, and just do not last. Sometimes their finishing move wears off, and they get bored of watching you fall when they can stand on their feet. Yet, the ghosting of that final blow that hit you, the one that shattered your bones and gave you the Eight Year Concussion, always stays with you. Because that's how love works.