I got kicked in the face once. I kid you not. No real damage, just a split lip and even that wasn’t so bad. But I wanted to cry. Because I got kicked in the face. You would cry too if it happened to you.
But it only happened once. I learned my lesson from that day onwards. Always keep your hands up to protect yourself. Always. No matter what. No matter how weak you think your opponent is. Always keep your hands up. And when I taught my kids in karate, I would tell them the very same thing. “Keep your hands up! Do you wanna get kicked in the face?”
Falling in love (with someone who doesn't love you back) is like being kicked in the face. From day one, you are taught to keep your hands up, but because of sheer laziness you don’t. In your gut you know it’s coming, you know how to block, how to protect yourself. And then you realise that your negligence, your need for that adrenaline, leads to a very distinctive whacking sound then seeing stars that leaves you spitting out blood.
I got kicked in face once. Left me spitting out blood. It wasn’t that bad. Left me with a split lip and seeing stars for a while. I should have kept my arms up. But really who lives like that? You can’t keep your hands up forever.
Eventually you will lose your concentration, you’ll put your hands down and then *Bam* *stars* *spitting blood*
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