Some days I find harder than others.
I feel like I know myself when I'm alone. I know what drives me. Then a woman appears in my life and changes everything I once thought I knew.
I found myself changing the way I thought about my own life as I got to know her. I knew she was important.
She's worried about men becoming infatuated or obsessed with her.
She's worried attraction is only surface deep.
I know I worry her.
I met this woman through a mutual friend on facebook. Random chance. She was one of the many people I hit up when I was trying to increase the variety of photographs in my portfolio, but one of the only I had a twenty minute conversation with before I snapped a shot. She expressed interest in art, photography, writing, even had the same college degree as me. The way she gracefully expressed herself with maturity and elegance drew me in-- there was a certain aged wisdom encapsulated in wicked-blue eyes.
I told her "nothing serious" in dating. She agreed.
Weeks later, I fell for her. I poured my heart into the desire, the want for her. I did it wrong. She didn't want or need it. I turned my want into a need for it. I pushed her away.
During this time she became my muse. More time passed and the romance became a throbbing heart; abused, stabbed, left to bleed everywhere.
Pictures snapped. Every inch of her explored in photographic vignettes; every photo a poem of the romance I felt for her. Pictures became reminders of where I stood, how I saw her, what I wanted her to hear that I could never explain--even as a writer, a poet.
Then, time became an unfriendly burden; a constant notice of how little we actually did know of each other. Only 4 months passed since the day we met. I found myself seeing the relationship as the hull of a ship being battered by stormy waves, halting its progression to a safe harbor. Little things would come up. My own security was challenged; a security I thought I established well in my bachelorhood prior.
I spent a year-and-a-half being single. Perhaps even up to 7 or 8 months before even dating or sleeping with someone else after my third relationship. I found nothing there. I never do.
Then she entered my life.
I find in our shared interests a foundational bond. I find myself hearing stories of her life and merely saying "that's like mine" -- almost every time. I find in the simplicity of hanging out, being in her arms, a rare calming peace, like the chaos of my mind is somehow evened-out by her presence.
We've been to hell and back in 4 months. Every Saturday becomes a day to fight, a day to vent. Sunday, we make up. Monday, I miss her. This has happened bi-weekly since about the 2nd or 3rd month. We have our reservations now. We know how we act. I find myself asking "Why can't I make this fucking work?" And then I wonder if it ever could.
I know I can't wonder. Life moves and functions as it will based on all the variables adding up at the time of calculation...
...sometimes I just can't accept the answer.
Pout
I feel like I know myself when I'm alone. I know what drives me. Then a woman appears in my life and changes everything I once thought I knew.
I found myself changing the way I thought about my own life as I got to know her. I knew she was important.
She's worried about men becoming infatuated or obsessed with her.
She's worried attraction is only surface deep.
I know I worry her.
I met this woman through a mutual friend on facebook. Random chance. She was one of the many people I hit up when I was trying to increase the variety of photographs in my portfolio, but one of the only I had a twenty minute conversation with before I snapped a shot. She expressed interest in art, photography, writing, even had the same college degree as me. The way she gracefully expressed herself with maturity and elegance drew me in-- there was a certain aged wisdom encapsulated in wicked-blue eyes.
I told her "nothing serious" in dating. She agreed.
Weeks later, I fell for her. I poured my heart into the desire, the want for her. I did it wrong. She didn't want or need it. I turned my want into a need for it. I pushed her away.
During this time she became my muse. More time passed and the romance became a throbbing heart; abused, stabbed, left to bleed everywhere.
Pictures snapped. Every inch of her explored in photographic vignettes; every photo a poem of the romance I felt for her. Pictures became reminders of where I stood, how I saw her, what I wanted her to hear that I could never explain--even as a writer, a poet.
Then, time became an unfriendly burden; a constant notice of how little we actually did know of each other. Only 4 months passed since the day we met. I found myself seeing the relationship as the hull of a ship being battered by stormy waves, halting its progression to a safe harbor. Little things would come up. My own security was challenged; a security I thought I established well in my bachelorhood prior.
I spent a year-and-a-half being single. Perhaps even up to 7 or 8 months before even dating or sleeping with someone else after my third relationship. I found nothing there. I never do.
Then she entered my life.
I find in our shared interests a foundational bond. I find myself hearing stories of her life and merely saying "that's like mine" -- almost every time. I find in the simplicity of hanging out, being in her arms, a rare calming peace, like the chaos of my mind is somehow evened-out by her presence.
We've been to hell and back in 4 months. Every Saturday becomes a day to fight, a day to vent. Sunday, we make up. Monday, I miss her. This has happened bi-weekly since about the 2nd or 3rd month. We have our reservations now. We know how we act. I find myself asking "Why can't I make this fucking work?" And then I wonder if it ever could.
I know I can't wonder. Life moves and functions as it will based on all the variables adding up at the time of calculation...
...sometimes I just can't accept the answer.
Pout
But seriously, don't beat yourself up. I have always been difficult. I don't mean to be but I suppose it's my natural defense mechanism to weed out those who are unworthy. But nothing worth having is ever easy to fight for or obtain, right? If nothing else, this has prepared you for an even greater adventure and has inspired poetic journal entries. Regret nothing. xo