I Won’t Apologize For My Restless Heart

“I cannot be still for long. There is a riot in me all the time. A needy, restless voice in my heart endlessly urging me onward. I ache for new experiences and my hunger for adventure is boundless. My entire life is perpetual loop of longing for something else.” ~Beau Taplin.
antsi98
antsi98

I’ll meet you and you’ll ask me how long I’ll stay.

With a plan in mind I’ll give you the answer. But in my restless little mind there are a million different plans being formed, a million different scenarios and situations where I will stay longer or leave quicker.

Ultimately I’ll lie to you.

I have no idea how long I’ll stick around for.

I can smile at you sweetly and win you over with my eyes. You’ll want me to stay and I’ll pull away. I’ll create distance because ultimately I know I’ll have to say goodbye. There’s nothing you could do to make me stay.

I could tell you we met at the wrong time, our paths crossed before they were ready. It’s not you it’s me (which is ultimately true). I’ll ask you why don’t you come with me, Be Spontaneous with me! You’ll ask me to wait, stick around and give you a couple of weeks notice for an adventure. ‘I can’t just go away with you tomorrow, I just can’t.’

But you have a life here.

This is your home I’ve intruded in on. This is where you work and these are your friends. You ask me to stay, you’ll introduce me to your friends – you want to meet more people right? I’ll say yes but really I don’t. The restlessness that thrives in me hasn’t made its home in you. That’s okay, part of me really envies you.

But part of me, the biggest part of me, doesn’t understand it. You can’t even offer me a spontaneous midnight drive when I suffer from insomnia, because it’s the time we should be asleep, you say. I’ll meet your friends and they will find me interesting. I’m not from here after all.

But they all know, they can read I’m not the stick-around type and while I try to win them over, I don’t let them close enough to know me. You’ll call me selfish.

You’re right.

To an extent.

But you’re also wrong. But I can’t argue against your points, they are all valid. You don’t understand why I’m always ‘running’ – what are you running from?! Why are you so scared of commitment?

I ask you why you are so scared of change, spontaneity, and adventure. These are all the qualities you write down on your resume and say you have but won’t prove.

When you met me you said you were fascinated with my spontaneity. When we met you said I fascinated you. I told you my stories when you asked me to and you told me I was a unique person. You said I was incredible and you wanted to hear more. But the more you heard, the more you told me how I intimidate you. I just followed my passion, the same way that you follow yours. It just lead us down different paths bringing us to different experiences.

We talk less about my stories now; I feel the need to hide them.

You ask me why I even bother datingyou’re not hanging around, so what are you even looking for?

I don’t know what I’m looking for. I’ll ramble, stumble, and try to cling to words to form an answer but I can’t give you one. This only frustrates you more. You tell me I’m impossible, but you don’t leave. You’re waiting. We become friends, sometimes a little more but never sure. We keep each other at arm’s length, safe distances to prepare ourselves for the inevitable goodbye.

I want to tell you I’m sorry I’m leaving. I don’t want to tell you I’m leaving. I just want to sink into the distance. Run as fast as I can without looking back in the hope you will forget me and I you to make it less painful.

I want to tell you I’m sorry I can’t stay, but I won’t.

So when am I leaving? Soon. Will we say goodbye? I’m not sure. Will our paths cross again? At this stage in life, it is unlikely but equally likely. I may be selfish right now, but I have no choice. The restlessness inside me is an inferno, which cannot be extinguished.

It brought me here after all. So call me selfish.

But I’m not sorry I won’t stay. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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