All of my life since I can remember, I have wanted to be in love with someone other than myself. I’m sure you can blame Disney movies and the fantastical illusory cartoon world of Love affairs, movie screen kisses and happy endings. But I also believe that I’m just a Lover. It’s not even that I want to BE loved, that has never been the case or a problem. I would like someone to take care of who doesn’t need me to. I want to be able to share and learn things with someone who will make me laugh and help me to understand the things foreign to me, and vice versa. I also would like for us both to look good doing it. I’m tired of dressing better than my dates and having people tell me they don’t look like my type and me having to remind them of how shallow I’m not, knowing damn well I think the same thing every time I see him. I’d like to not have to cope with attributes, but to embrace them. I want to randomly see them walking and my body to react as if they are a handsome stranger every time. I haven’t got a definitive title or name for this person, but I know what I need. I crave the kind of passion that is written about. I know it exists because it can be imagined. And yes I do believe all things imagined, are possible. I want us to share that. I have never imagined a big wedding, or any sort of a ceremony where we proclaim our love in front of thousands of people amidst white doves and sands. No. Our lives will be our proclamation. Living in Love and emanating that love to all who know us. Yet ironically, I always imagine myself alone with the love of my life somewhere, anywhere beautiful really. That to me is Marriage. Two people so in love that sometimes no one else exists for them. Yet everyone is affected by how beautiful it is to witness. No paper or building can create or maintain that. It’s almost Magic.
And for this I yearn secretly.
I learned somewhere though, that allowing yourself to drown in emotions created by circumstances you can’t control is just ridiculous. In other words, imagine taking a day off of work and having a glass of wine and a cry in bed because the milk in the fridge expired last night. “Sometimes milk expires, go get some more “I tell myself. I don’t even like milk. But I know that everyone isn’t going to be for me, all the time, so it’s ridiculous of me to be sad or frustrated because I’m single. I’m sure I could be dating some desperate fool right now, unhappily having sex and going places I don’t want to be seen with them at, but I won’t. I don’t roll like that. Sometimes romance expires, go get some more. Currently, passively seeking some more.