Everyone reaches a point growing up when she realizes that all the boys that have loved her in the past will not always love her. They will move on and find better things, and for the most part, she won't care, because she has found the only boy she wants anyway.
But there's a little part of us that wants to believe that we will leave such a mark on these men that we have left behind that they can't possibly find anyone better than us. Ever.
There's no greater pain than discovering that someone you love no longer loves you. I'm not sure if I know this first hand. Every time I've been left, the man told me it was not because he no longer loved me but rather because there were other extenuating circumstances that could not be overlooked. And me being the little love-thirsty woman that I am always found someone to fill that void.
And then the minute I find another one of the men I used to hold in my heart has really found someone else... I feel like a little part of me has been swallowed into a million-foot-deep chasm that appears purely for moments like this.
This little phenomenon is strange for a number of reasons:
1- I'm currently in love, and these men never even enter my mind. Like, never.
2- I'm not romantically interested in these men.
3- A big part of me wants to be happy for these men.
So I sit here torn because I really want to know these women... I want to know what they look like and how they fight and how they dress and what kind of grades they get and how much money they make and what kind of movies they like and how often they read the newspaper and who they voted for in the last election and where they live and what kind of car they drive and whether or not they look good in hats (because I do).
Just generally, I want to know how I compare to them.
Most of the relationships I've had in my life were strange because I am strange. The fact that I'm strange is a fact that I was unaware of until I dated Brian, but he told me regularly that I was, in fact, strange. And for whatever reason, that's why he loved me. Because I dressed weird and was in the drama club and drove a huge black truck and had dirty blonde hair and I didn't wear make up. That's why we worked. I brought out the goober in him, and I was unlike anyone else he'd dated before, and he kept me from being the odd man out. Bobby was a tough-on-the-outside-gooey-on-the-inside loner who needed me to have an intelligent conversation while returning his wise ass comments with speed and regularity. I needed him to bring me chocolates and CDs when I was sick and make me feel like the most beautiful person in the world.
There have been others who made marks on my heart, most of them with a hatchet, but these two were the most real experiences with love I had until James, who basically healed me and showed me that I'm more than just the sarcastic strange girl with long dark hair and navy blue eyes.
Now all I can seem to have is strained conversations with the men who exist only in my past.
No comments:
Post a Comment