About Me

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Philadelphia, PA, United States
I suck at bios. Am horrible at telling interesting things about myself without embarassing myself at the same time. So I stick to the basics: My mind is forever active; always thinking and asking questions. I enjoy reading. Love writing. But if it were up to me, I'd love for a lifetime because love, is an animal that as untamed as it is, it's perfect.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Still, Love

Several months ago, before our relationship turned trivial and began to plummet downhill, he gave me the three things he wanted to achieve in this life: 1) Get Married 2) Have children and 3) Own his own company. That's it and in that order he gave them to me. Didn't matter if he did or didn't travel the world. Didn't matter if he made hundreds of thousands of dollars first. Didn't matter if the precedent he wanted to set, was not the norm. He was ok with that.

So was I. Then.

But then, out of no where, I became frantic and nervous. Suddenly afraid of commitment and suddenly wanting to participate in the life of glitz and glam, fun and games that had never quite interested me before. An imaginary bucket list appeared and I'd convinced myself I needed to achieve and do these things before doing anything else - particularly, before marriage and the baby carriage. Visit somewhere out of the country. Take a road trip. Buy an expensive, high end bag. Blow an entire check on nothing. Become someone who I essential was not, am not, and will never be. But for a moment, I was ok with these ideas. I'd convinced myself that these ideas, these thoughts, were what I needed - when they essentially were wants that hadn't even made it to being desires. And stupidly, I'd allowed them to convince me that my relationship wasn't worth a wad of gum on the bottom of my ALDO ballet flats. Stupidly, I'd allowed them to convince me that there was a world outside of the one I ventured into daily to go to work, or visit my mother, or one outside of the one that he and I spent so many evenings and nights debating on what else was there for us to do. That world.

So, before I knew it, we were done and he was gone. And the long nights came knocking on my bedroom door. The waking up in the middle of the night and thinking someone else was in my bedroom, when it was instead, my stuffed moose my little sister gave me for Christmas years ago or my bra draped over the lamp. My subconscious was fighting to tell me early, though a sound decision, my reasons to do so weren't so sound. Weren't so put together. And that at the end of the story, it wasn't a good idea.

But I continued to convince myself I was right, this is what I needed, and that was the end of the story. I barhopped. Spent a few hundred dollars on summer sandals and bags (not the expensive high end one though). Cut my hair. Dabbled back into my makeup box. Bought a watch. Moved into a new, more spacious apartment.

And it hit me. I had no one standing behind me in the morning, totally amazed at me as I applied and paired my coppering MAC eye shadow with my charcoal CoverGirl eye shadow. I had no one asking me to sit on his back to crack it as he ventured off to sleep. I cooked dinner for one (dinner eventually went from a meal to a bowl of cereal). I began to yearn for the jingling keys in the door. Or the text saying Baby, I'll be home in 15.

There are things and people that our closest friends and family cannot be. There are things that they cannot do for us. There are times that not even they can comfort us or rub our backs or shoulders or hands or tummies, to let us know that everything will be ok. They, cannot give us the love of a lover.

And seven months later, I understand. I welcome this fact. I cloak my shoulders with this fact. This trueness. And willingly will battle any heart or mind who feels or thinks otherwise. Because the fact of the matter is that there are nights when in darkness with not even a star to flicker or twinkle in our eyes, love is our only company.

No love is worth it if you don't have to fight for it. If it doesn't beg of you to get in the ring with it. If it doesn't scream and shout and cry at you as it pleads for you to understand its sincerity and true dedication to you. And only you. Love is fickle. Love is fine. Love falls in and out, comes and goes, smiles and cries, but regardless of whatever facet it is donned in today, it, is, still, love.

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