And still.

I had a personal revelation today. It is as follows:

Consciously protecting one's heart hurts just as much as letting it get pierced.

Seriously.

I gave this whole "Play it cool, don't lose your head, don't let yourself get too involved, don't open up until it's a mutual thing" thing a shot. I really did. I even hedged some bets, kept myself occupied with a whole slew of new projects (bread baking, cheesemaking, apron sewing, butter churning, and a variety of baked desserts) and a whole stable of interesting people.

And still, and still, and still.

My fenced and guarded heart bleeds. It just happens to ooze behind a wall this time, where it's harder to see and also harder to bandage.

So guess what? I was right all along, even though I hate that statement more than anything right now.