You are currently browsing the daily archive for November 2nd, 2009.
I never realised it would take 30 years for me to be ready to have a relationship. I mean I guess I had never really thought about it before. Maybe I just assumed it would happen. But now, as my 31st birthday grows nearer and nearer I wonder now that if perhaps I have missed the boat?
I know that I am not “old” but I also know that if I want to have a family, children of my own, then I am going to need to start sooner rather than later. When I was younger, the idea of marriage and family horrified me. I told myself and anyone else who would listen that I wanted nothing to do with either of these things and in turn I suppose I actually started to believe it. It was a coping mechanism for me. To deny myself of anything good and wholesome and pure because for some odd reason i never really thought I deserved to have these things. Perhaps I was just so frightened that I would never have these things that I tried to talk myself out of them for fear of rejection. And so now at 30, I’m ready. I am done with all the game playing, the flings, the one night stands and the men who are not good enough for me. I am done with all of this and am ready to settle down…the only problem is the lack of male companionship.
I’m trying to put myself out there again, which is very hard considering what happened last time…. I thought he was the one, I thought I was done with all the dating etc…. but it died. So now, I have to look at this as something new. New and exciting and I have to have my expectations higher than before. I have to understand my worth and although I am not entirely certain of what it is I want…. I am most definitely sure of what it is I no longer want. I guess that is a start!
I’m not a person who can let things go easily. I often wonder what is was that I did wrong, or what it was that was wrong with me. Why a relationship ended. I regret things. I find myself spending hours in my own world. Lost in private transcripts in my mind…. most of these happen on the bus. I will see someone who looks like he did and then there I am, talking to you in my head again. It’s been nearly twelve months now and yet your memory is still there. Some things have changed…. I can’t remember the exact shade of blue of your eyes or the distinct gravely sound of your voice…. but other things remain. I can still smell you. Sometimes I smell you in places you’ve never before entered. Places in my world that were never a part of yours, and yet you are there, like some scaring over friendly guest I’ve brought to bed…. and as I write that I realise it is only a play on words… there has been no one since you. It has been my year of celibacy… eight days and counting…. But I wear you upon my skin in other ways. You scarred more than my heart. I wear your memory in the scars upon my arms and legs, and every time I see the raised pale flesh i think of you and all I was not. Everything I could not be.
And today, in the silence, I remember you. I remember the first time you touched my face and how I thought I had found my home. I remember the first time your lips touched mine and you breathed me into your world like some soft scented flower. Allowing me to open my petals in the light of you like a new morning, a new day. But like all things that are living, one day they must die…. and so did we. We died…. over the phone in the echo of the small telephone room at my work. You broke my heart in the darkness… and it was there I lived…. in the darkness…. away from the attention for others, until now. My year of celibacy nearing. The year in which I had to get it all together…. the year that was to be my own, with no one else to scar me…. and now begins something new. Something magnificent.
