Are we masochists?

It's been quite some time since I've been wondering if we are indeed masochists in matters of love. I think sometimes we are just searching for all this pain caused by love or by a fake minimal orgasm that the feeling of love or beeing in love has to offer for a short while. And after that? Why do we accept the same pain, over and over again? Is it just for that feeling of confort and safety that love has to offer just in the first part when the magic of getting to know the other still makes your heart burst out of your chest? In fact, I think that every one of us knows exactly what's coming and that every shiver down your spine or every tickling in your stomach is gonna add up and multiply in the amount of pain that we're gonna feel after the other one is gone. But, even knowing all of that, and even if our hearts were torn apart in the past not only one time, after all that, we still have the faith, we still belive in love, we still try over and over again just to get a quick feeling of that rising to the sky and then to feel the terrible pain of every broken bone in our body from the fall, cause when love gives you wings and rises you up, the higher it gets you the bigger and painful is gonna be the fall. So, are we masochists? I sure know I am, but I don't think that they discovered a cure for this, so... LOVE, come and raise me higher and higher! Maybe one day I'll grow some wings of myself and I'll surprise you that you won't be able to bring me down anymore!

Cap ou pas cap

How often do we wonder not if the others are capable of doing something but if we are?
I recently came to the conclusion that if we are not dragged into something or if we are not dared to do it, we are incapable of doing something just like that for the fun of doing something else, for the fun of beeing young and free.
Where is the essence of life lately? Where are we all going? Is it so bad to put your feelings out in the open or to tell or your fantesies and wildest dreams?
I often wonder where is that innocence that we had and that feeling that we can climb to the top of the mountain, the feeling that we had when we were little, so little that nothing was impossible, even if the mountain looked much more bigger than it looks now. In fact, the real question is... where did we go? And if we are somewhere, can we be found again? And if we can be found, are we capable of finding ourselves or are we doomed to wait forever for that special someone that may rescue us someday?
So... the question remains: cap ou pas cap? (or simple: love me if you dare)