When I was younger — I never cared about the White wedding and getting fitted for the dress that people will judge and hate anyway. Even the diamond ring was optional as I couldn’t justify spending all that dough on something that I probably wouldn’t wear all the time.
I just wanted to love and be loved.
My greatest love story is still the man who was my boss and belonged to another. I didn’t want it that way. He was quite persistent and after weeks of holding back — I allowed my weakness to rob be blind. He was blond and beautiful and made me feel the way I’d always imagined I would feel when a man holds you with his eyes.
We lasted as long you do when you’re buying time and blissfully pretending that the world you’ve created will keep expanding for your benefit. But — when it was over. It was over.
Since then — I’ve been tossing and turning in the arms of suitors who feel like water when I snuggle with effort and miss the sound of sweet nothings. The connections are sporadic and forgettable — even if the sex manages to engage the nodules of physical hunger.
My heart is as cold as ice .
Anyone who dares to skate with the urge to break it up into crystalized pieces of endearment has to compete with the heat of my passionless investment. I don’t need him to lift me up and gently place me in positions of desire. I don’t want to gaze longingly at my phone as your words filter the space with emptiness. I don’t want to imagine you taller — broader — thicker — gentler or sane. I don’t need you to dance around my body with the prerequisites when we already know where we’re not going.
I don’t want to feel guilty about the comfort of remaining unloved because it’s unacceptable.
What if I never fall in love?
What if I have to adjust to the hysteria of dozens of men without the arrival? What if penetration without the righteous rhythm of thrusting — that christens the unbeliever into the religion of a blessed union is the only way to stay faithful?
We are hit with storms of love stories on the screen and in paper and the vitality of the characters is the reminder of why life was supposed to dress us up in a timely fashion. You have to be ready at all times to meet him because if you’re not — he will find another.
But no matter how young or old — destiny will always intervene and when it’s not in your favor — you lose.
It’s not fair to be loveless and celebrate the loved at the same time — but it doesn’t hurt either. It becomes painless and almost serenely poetic — to lay in the dark with images of naked bodies rolling around — with the moonlight scattering the shadows about — as your eyelids flutter with recall.
Living without love is the phase you walk into after passing through the seasons that attack with warning. The mirror holds you hostage as you mentally prepare the portrait you will carry with the pledge of changeable templates — that are built for manageability.
This is you now.
Unloved and wanted. Loved but deceived. Old and young. Gray but bleeding. Late and timely. Grasping and flinging. Reaching and holding back.
Accepting the acceptable.