I decided today that I like myself. This happens from time to time. It is not necessarily an all day, everyday kind of thing, but today I really felt it. I went to school and the gym and for dinner with a classmate. I felt tired and hungry and annoyed and sad and happy and lonely and excited all at once. And I was okay with it. That’s the thing about how you make me feel. You make me feel like, no matter what, I am okay. You never look at me with judgement in your eyes; you are always ready to accept where I’m at, no matter what. No matter my fears and doubts, I am always grateful for that. I love you. Always.
I have spent about the last ten years of my life on the search for the perfect man. I was an idealist, a romantic; I believed he was out there. I don’t believe that anymore. Continue reading Perfection.
Sometimes I drink a bit too much wine and listen to romantic songs and daydream about all my loves. Lately I have’t been thinking about you anymore, and I don’t think that’s a good sign. I think about the handsome bearded guy from the sushi place, who couldn’t stop smiling at me. I think about the fella on the bus who sat beside me and smelled like sandalwood. I think about the smart, well dressed gentleman from my class, and I dream about a tomorrow where I am sipping wine and telling them my story.
I tell him about how I tried my very best with you, but that it just wasn’t enough. At the end of the day you lacked empathy, and I couldn’t teach you how to do that, no matter how bad I wanted to. I talk about how it was the hardest decision I ever made, because it probably will be, because I was choosing between what I wanted (you), and what I knew I actually needed (more). I sit, and I daydream about it. But instead of action, I just take another swig of wine and smile when you enter the room. You don’t even notice my red eyes and tear stained cheeks.
I don’t know what to do.
I think about your smile and flowers grow in the darkest parts of me. I imagine folding you into a big hug, breathing in your earthy scent, feeling your little wisps of hair against my cheek. There is something so reassuring about knowing that you exist in the world.
When I’m sad I sometimes like to picture you happy. I imagine you clutching your stomach and tipping your head back, eyes closed, in laughter. I picture the goofy little face you make when you know you said something funny. I imagine you making yourself soup and drinking a fresh cup of coffee. I just like thinking about the life you live, with or without me; I’m happy when you’re happy.
This isn’t romance, my darling, but it could be. Our love for one another is the type of love they talk about in fairytales, a no matter what kind of love. It’s friendship. Uteruses before duderuses. It is everything.
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
These are the things I want to say to you- the things that I think it might be important for you to know.
I am afraid that I have let the world harden and jade me. I used to be a romantic. I used to be able to see the good in everyone and love without fear. Now I tell myself that I was naive and childish, and maybe that’s true but I am afraid that I have let the best parts of myself slip away. I wonder who I would be now if I didn’t feel the need to protect myself all the time. Every single feeling I have is felt with a tinge of anxiety, always erring on the side of caution. I’ve convinced myself that it’s instinct, but I worry that it’s these so called “instincts” that are causing my problems, like self fulfilling prophesies.
When I look at you I want to feel all the butterflies and magic that I can acknowledge are there, but a voice somewhere tells me to relax, to be cool, to be reasonable. So I smile coyly, a master of the game I’m playing against myself.
Really, I’m just afraid of losing you. Really, I’m just afraid of everything.
No matter how guarded I am against the harshness of heartbreak it seems to constantly make it past my defenses. Even when I haven’t given my love freely. I let people in even when I don’t realize it, even when I don’t intend to.
I have my heart broken over and over again- by the guys of my dreams and by the guys from tinder whose jokes I couldn’t even pretend to laugh at. I fear what this means, that I am just so desperately looking for someone to love and cherish me that I don’t even care if I don’t feel that way either.
Maybe I should just focus on loving myself and being loved in the ways that matter right now. I can’t break my own heart can I?
I read these little postings of longing for romance, falling asleep in each other’s arms and waking up knowing you can spend the whole day in bed together and that will be okay. I’ve had these things.
I want to respond to these postings and tell them that the love fades, things take over and suddenly laying in bed together all day isn’t okay anymore. You don’t know why, you wish it were, but there’s a vacancy next to you when you wake up in the morning, even if their arms are still wrapped around you. I want to warn them that life isn’t always sweet like that, the world will eventually seep into your love and things will change.
And then I wonder, the smallest tinge of hope filling my pessimistic heart, maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. Maybe I can find someone one day who will forever want to spend lazy Sundays in bed with me and will always ask me what’s wrong when I start to cry, even if they know it’s nothing. Maybe one day someone will love me so much that they will never stop trying to make me happy, even when it seems impossible. Maybe one day, I’ll find that true love that I so deeply believe I deserve.
Maybe one day.