Sure, he felt like home, but, one by one, he destroyed the walls… with me still trapped inside. He taught me this: that the same heart that can be home can also be hell, and that I shouldn’t seek shelter in anybody else but myself.
I want to tell you that I love you. Even if you don’t believe it, or you don’t want to hear it. It is my truth and I feel it- I feel it so strongly that my lips can no longer suppress these words that ache in my chest. They must be released so I may find peace…and start to heal, to feel again. So, I want to tell you that I love you now that we are through.
Today, I cried.
I thought that
I was finally… fine, but
this seemingly “harmless” drive
brought back memories of us
out of the blue.
I cannot lie;
I checked in then
only to learn that you,
you are truly through.
You are happy, it seems.
I believe that I,
I can be happy for you two, too.
There is nothing left,
not here, with you.
what else was I to do?
where I waited before,
when you came
to meet me.
You met me
where I waited
Your love was an action I ignored. I see now that your faith in me was as strong as I am stubborn. You craved my words; I avoided yours. I refused to see that in each text you were still thinking of me, loving me even when you were not next to me. I was just too scared to be left alone. I was immature, insecure… vulnerable. So, I blamed you; I lost faith in us because I never believed in myself, alone.
This story is short, but not so sweet. It is pretty much a fool me twice situation. With that said, he can’t get all of the credit for this story; I was dumb enough to give him a second shot.
So here goes: Guy messages me on a dating site and says “hey, I think that I follow you on Twitter.” Look him up and he’s right. Ha! Small world blah blah blah chatter… and we agree to meet.
We meet at a bar. Date starts slow, awkwardly, but after a few drinks he loosens up, conversation flows easier and I find that I’m having a great time. It escalates quickly, but no complaints. The next morning I’m on a flight to Vegas and he texts; I’m thinking things are cool. While on my trip however he goes silent. Irritating as fuck, but nothing I can do about it. I drunk text something about decency and respect before deleting his number and moving on.
Months later, same dude messages me on same site. I respond (like a fucking dumb ass). We chit chat. He asks if I want to get dinner; I hesitate, so we keep chatting. He asks again until I submit. We make plans, but of course he conveniently disappears when we are supposed to hang out because… why wouldn’t he? A flake is a flake. A fool (me) is a fool. It’s amazing the games people play with others to, what, get off or boost their self-esteem? I won’t speculate too much, but I cannot help but wonder sometimes what in the actual fuck is wrong with people. Myself included.
Sadly, I have lost count of my bad dates at this point. I would wave the white flag if I truly believed that I was done dating, but I know that I am not. I want to experience a life long partnership and love; I know that it is not a necessity to survival, but alone sucks sometimes. Really. I don’t NEED a man. I KNOW that much, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want one around every once in a while (read: fairly often)… and therein lies the problem. Whether I am in pursuit or laying low, I keep meeting men that I wouldn’t mind getting to know. I keep agreeing to dates, but I swear that the dates just get more ridiculous. No matter how I meet these man-boys, no matter what “type” they are, they all wind up proving my theory correct… that my type is “jerk.”
Let me be clear, I am not calling the men jerks because they didn’t stick around to pursue a relationship with me. I do not resort to name calling because it makes me feel better about myself. I say, with sincerity, that the guys I find myself attracted to and involved with are inevitably the biggest jerks on the planet. Whatever pheromones I’m putting out in the universe attract the bottom feeders of the dating pool and I somehow cannot break the cycle. I took the entire month of April off of dating, but that didn’t seem to turn my luck around.
This past week I met up with a girl friend for dinner, but while waiting for her, I made eye contact with a kind of cute guy across the bar. He later sauntered over and offered to buy us drinks, got my number and told me that he would like to take me out the following evening for dinner. Physically, he was not what I would would go for, but the interaction at the bar, albeit brief, wasn’t forced or awkward… it was organic. I was feeling it. I have been more open minded about dating men that don’t fit any particular mold outside of “seemingly nice” lately. Since he seemed sweet and I had nothing better planned, I agreed to meet him.
As much as I hate to admit it, dinner went… fabulously. Conversation flowed easily; he was smart, witty and charming. At the end of the evening, he was not pushy or expectant. He didn’t show the typical signs of a “traveling man.” He simply kissed me goodnight and told me that he would be back in town very soon and looked forward to seeing me again if I was interested. I responded in kind, but I had mentally prepared myself to believe that one dinner was all it was ever going to be. Set the expectations low and let him surprise me if he so desired, but it wasn’t required. I had a really good time and that’s where it was meant to end. It was one of those dates that would restore my faith in dating; it was EXACTLY what I needed at that moment. I didn’t need anything else. I truly believed that I would not hear from him again and I was absolutely, completely OK with that fact.
Needless to say, I was surprised to hear from him several days later. Maybe I was a little happy to hear from him, but my happiness/surprise was very short lived. He was not calling to see how my week had turned out. He was calling because he felt guilty for lying to me and felt that he owed it to me to be honest… about having a girlfriend. Well, shucks mister. Thanks so much for considering ME in that conscience clearing, but, you know, it’d be a whole lot cooler if you a) had just left me the fuck alone in the first place, or b) had at least just disappeared like a decent fucking jerk does. Gah… a jerk can’t even get being a jerk right. I swear.