The gypsy fortune teller and the Jaded songwriter

Photo by Carrie Thomas

2 years ago on old hallow's eve, I sat across from a gypsy fortune teller waiting to hear my future and my fate fall from her mouth.

She looked me in the eyes and told me that I am unhappy. She told me that I pretend to be happy for others but that there is deep pain behind my smile. Her initial assesment of my then present state was pretty acturate, so I decided to listen further. Mind you, it doesn't take a brain surgeon or a telepath to realise the rather obvious signs that I'm not the most contented of people.

At the time, I had become re-involved with my exboyfriend, because sometimes beating your head against a brick wall isn't enough. You want to do it a second time to make sure you leave a lasting reminder not to throw your heart in the quisenart for a third time.

The gypsy proceeded to tell me that I was in a relationship with a man and that he was all wrong for me. Once again, no brain surgeon or telepath needed on that one. Even I knew I was kidding myself by thinking time could cure sociopathic neurosis.

She continued by telling me that I would never be wealthy but never be destitute... and then the kicker. The final words of the gypsy haunt me to this day. She told me that I would never have a lasting relationship. I would be doomed to search fruitlessly for love to die old and alone, having never found a soulmate.

Earlier this week, I was told by a friend that perhaps I am jaded. My heart sank a bit to admit that this is possibly true. I have become one of those people who has accepted eating in a restaurant alone as a normal non-pathetic activity. It is the day before Valentine's Day and for me, it will pass like any other day. I no longer flirt or seek the attention of anyone. I have essentially closed myself off to love. I tell myself at times that I'm too busy for another romantic entanglement. I tell myself that I am focused on my goals. I tell myself that time kissing could be spent restringing my guitar.
but really, I am just a jaded songwriter sharing tattered pieces of his heart. I once delighted in the thought of sneaking up to your door with roses behind my back. Now I am more concerned about hurting my fingers...in the words of the great Axel Rose....."Every rose has its thorn."