I thought my life was going to go one way and then it went another. I’m fine with it most days but then there are certain moments, such as these, when I’m suffocated by the weight of my own failures. I’ve pretended for so long that this part of me was shut off, damaged goods, that it just wasn’t ever going to happen for me. I became resigned and defeated. Content with my discontent.
Then the fire will spark and I’ll feel cheated. All of a sudden, I want to get what’s owed to me. I want to get more than what I currently have.
I’m talking here about love, of course. The act of getting it and then sustaining the connection. Growing up, I always knew that I had a lot of love to give. I felt everything; I felt everyone. I’m always placing my hand on a friend’s body out of habit just so I can be closer to them. There’s no such thing as too close. I’m always looking for connections wherever I go.
Remind me why I’m here. C’mere.
I imagined my young adult life to be spent in a series of different people’s beds, limbs entangled, light peeking through the window, fingertips going up and down the back to initiate morning sex. I can so clearly visualize the scene: I’m cooking breakfast for someone. Music is wafting through the laptop speakers and I’m watching a man get dressed. I’m watching his ass, the curve of his back, as he gets clothed and moves forward to kiss me goodbye. Then, when he leaves, the energy will get sucked from the room, the spell will be broken, and I’ll need to go get it again.
Sounds familiar, right? Sounds like something that’s plucked from the pages of your life? I know it is because I’ve been studying it. But despite all of my desire and wanting, there’s been no naked backs hanging from the edge of my bed, no quick passionate kisses goodbye while I’m still half-asleep. There’s been nothing.
Because of this, I don’t understand the motions of sex and love. I am not a part of the club.
Of course, a lot of these failures have to do with me. You can only blame others for so long before realizing that you are a part of the problem. Perhaps what’s more adult than wearing your lover’s shirt and cooking breakfast for them in the morning is coming to the realization that you’re screwed up. Something inside of you broke and it’s up to you to fix it.
Here’s another familiar scene for you: You look around a room that’s full of your friends and realize you are the only one who isn’t spoken for. Everyone else is clutching on to the arm of their partner while your grip on the bottle of wine stiffens.
Another one: You go on a family vacation and realize you are the only one who didn’t bring a significant other. You get to sleep on the pullout because it’s only you and it’s better for one person to be uncomfortable rather than two. Actually, I guarantee that I’m the one who will be in more pain BECAUSE I’m alone.
Last one: A man brushes your shoulder on the subway and your body practically has convulsions. It’s then that you realize that you haven’t been touched in a long time.
It’s easy to sit here and ask, “When will I be spoken for? When will I have someone to bring on the family vacation? When will I get used to someone’s touch?”
When will it be my turn to fall in love?
I don’t know. No one knows. Stop buying the books that tell you when because they’re merely profiting off of your vulnerabilities. Just focus on yourself and pray that the fire never stops sparking. Pray that you never get used to all of this because the second you do, it’s yours forever.