We only met once at a party. I remember you introduced yourself to me in the perfect gap in a conversation. I was complaining about how I didn’t need a boy, I needed a man, and you walked over and shook my hand. If this was a indie romance, we would have kissed in the snow, under the light of a streetlight, that very night. But it isn’t, I was already in a relationship; you did give my friend and I a ride back to our car on the other side of the city at 2 o’clock in the morning, a true gentleman.
You added me on facebook, but we haven’t seen each other since then. I moved to the coast and you’re still living in that small town where we first met. You’re in a cool band and you grew your hair out. Sometimes I listen to your music and think about your warm car, the sleeping city buzzing past us. I remember we talked the whole way home, but I don’t remember what about. You left enough of an impression on me, though. I partake in the self indulgent fantasy from time to time that you and I may end up together. Though I am, again, already in a relationship.
So the question for me, then becomes, should we expect one person to be everything?
Or better yet- can one person actually be everything you need them to be? Maybe that’s my problem and maybe that’s why my past relationships have failed, because I expect my partner to be able to fulfill my every need. That’s not very fair, is it? They are only one person, after all. So at the end of the day my dissatisfaction is not a reflection on them, but rather on my compulsive need to be perfect.
I want to be the quiet girl, that you just have to get to know. I want to be the exuberant one in the center of the room, that is intoxicating in her story-telling. I want to be smart, and funny, and sexy, and clever, and cute. I want to be a girl who can cook like your mom, and play video games and drink with the boys. I want to be sensitive and insightful, but also tough and independent. I want to be everything. I sometimes wonder who I could’ve been with you.
No one person can be everything though. Instead, I sit and write my self-indulgent bullshit, wondering when I will stop wondering about all the what-might-have-beens in my life.
What do you think, dearest?
A friend of a friend, from the Ugly Christmas Sweater Party of ’10