I have intentionally stayed away from the gratuitous relationship ranting, because, well… because I’m about 90% sure you don’t give a flying flip and don’t want to hear it anyway. Not that you want to hear any of my other tripe, but, well, we won’t go there.
In short, however, this is my blog, and I want to write about it. If you don’t like it, I’m not forcing you to be here.
Why do I even harp on this? Why should this even be something I focus so much of my time, energy, money, and emotional resources on?
When it comes to my forays into the realms of online dating, I’m doing nothing but coasting, not expecting any results. And to be honest, the answer to the question I constantly pose, “Do I think I’m better off alone?”, is no longer being answered with the resounding “NO!” that it used to be. Simply put, it’s becoming far too much trouble and disappointment. The disparate and poorly maintained online dating services, the rampant non-responders, the dancing around the truth, and the drama, oh, the bittersweet drama.
Truth be told, and I’ve touched on this in the past, but not in any great depth… I want to fall in love again. Now that I know a thing or two, now that I know a bit more about myself, and my emotionalism, and how to control it, now that I think I might actually be able to handle it and not totally fuck it up and have at least some hope of not hurting anyone… I want to try a relationship again.
Because it’s been so long, and because it’s never been truly right, I’m not even sure if I have the capacity to love anymore. But there’s something there, at the very least, whatever it may be. I get the tiniest inklings of inclinations when I watch a sappy romantic anime, or peruse the occassional romantic blog, or read poetry. And the music, God, the music. Sometimes, it’s just too much to listen to the feverish, trance-inducing flow of the ambient, waterfall of sound that I’ve come to regard as my favorite style of feverish aural escape.
But the absolute worst, the thing that simply rips at my feelings of longing the most, is seeing all of my friends, currently romantically encumbured who perform subtle dramas in front of me.
And I watch as a friend of mine vent about an argument he and his wife had, and I know that he’s angry, but from my vantage point of outside observer, I can see that in the long run, it will have no effect other than to continue to temper the relationship, that even when they’re fighting, they’re still so damn adorable.
And I listen as they relate little you-had-to-be-there anecdotes about this or that, which they laugh at together while exchanging a grinning, knowing glance.
And I hear about the subtle nuances of their relationship that has helped them pass through the fire to arrive at a point where things just simply… work, and work as well as needs be.
And I offer my advice and my shoulder and my words and my wisdom when they come crying screaming arguing hurting.
And I stand by and watch as they dance the endless relationship waltz… the three beats of burning conflict, cautious return, and swelling love, and listen as the lilting tune plays until death do them part.
And… I am jealous, to admit my fallacy, and to apologize for my secret, wanting care.
I know, I want the impossible. I want my complement, my angel, my muse, my oneand I’m almost completely convinced that she’s simply a figment of my deranged and lonely imagination, but I think I finally know what it is I’m looking for. At least, I have a glimmer of an inkling of a shadow of a notion.
I want someone who understands me, from my darkest, drowning sorrow, when tragedy strikes and no one other than my own downward spiral is there to greet me; to my greatest swelling of hope and power when I feel as though I can conquer the world with a soulful glance in the tiniest of instants.
I want someone who will guide me, from focusing my boiling emotive power when all of existence feels in sync with the core of my being, to someone who will redirect my dull acceptance of this tyrranical existence when another plodding, droning day draws to an end.
Someone who knows at least a little about what it’s like, cooped up inside this soul that at times, feels far too large to contain the miniscule me, and at others too constricting and strangling to contain the explosion of person I believe that I can become.
And someone who will allow me, of all people, to offer the same to her, however foolish and blatantly fallible I will be.
So, I continue my search, like some jaded town crier, flinging messages, invites, and “Interest Notifications” across the digital ether to whomever will take heed and dance this waltz with me. For those that I envy, the tune plays on, and I will continue to watch from the sidelines, dreaming, hoping, supporting, learning… waiting.
And I continue to wait on the sidelines, for the waltz that I only hear in my distant, far away dreams to come into crashing clarity with the one who will finally take my outstretched hand and, in a flourish, walk with me to the dance floor to begin our own clumsy, ugly, beautiful… perfect endless waltz.
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