I'm a helpless romantic. I know people usually say hopeless, but no- I mean helpless. As in I cannot for the life of me help my damn self. I have been all my life. In love with love- the idea, the act, the falling, the songs, the films. So here I am again, subjecting myself to another show about love. In particular, Modern Love on prime. I can't help but cry my little eyes out.
I've had all kinds of love- unrequited, fireworks, even the kind that just simmers. I've broken hearts, and had mine absolutely shattered.Yet here I am, bawling my eyes out watching these differing stories unfold. I can relate to many of them, others I can only empathize. Of course in moments like these, I can't help reflect on my loves, and trysts.
The first girl I kissed, and slept with. The ones I snuck off and kissed because I wasn't ready to tell everyone I was a flaming queer who preferred the ladies.
The time I actually at one time was a borderline child bride, (alright I'm exaggerating. I was all of twenty one). Still, that's the longest relationship I've had to date. Wrapped within the same story is the high school sweetheart who was also an alcoholic, who happened to step out on me as well. How I allowed that to take up space through being twenty six... the amount of learning of good, and absolutely poor habits that came out of that one. Woof.
Or the gallivanting I did afterward. The rediscovery of my love for women, my putting that on a shelf for the guy who looked good on paper, and I almost moved across the country for. I was such a mess after my marriage, I let that one think everything he said and did was gold. Anyone who thinks silent treatments are a good idea to punish their partner can just fuck right off. Then when we were faced with the idea we could become parents, he ran for the hills. With finality, and complete certainty.
The real heartbreak after that one because I almost gave away the damn farm, to more cavorting again to distract myself from the fact I realized I wanted to be a mum. To meeting her.
Oh man, she really almost ruined me. She may or may not deserve for more to be said, but really she was the final straw before I realized I couldn't just love them harder to get them to love me back. Maybe I should pack it in, get some therapy, and sort out myself.
To more trysts- the first lady after getting my heart properly stomped on, another one who said I love you too damn soon, to a guy who did the same. Between the people who do that, or the ones who continually try to get into my pants even years after we fooled around... still not sure if I should wear those moments as badges of honor, or wonder what I'm putting into the ether. I can't decide if it's flattering to still be considered fuckable. Being a woman is weird.
To now- having an unnamed lead who may or may not remain unnamed. Ah well, I did say I was a helpless romantic. Fucking helpless.
Watching, reading, and listening to every kind of love story, looking at mine and wondering what any of it means, or if it means anything at all.
Wondering if I'll always be helpless. If its still me taking myself out at the knees by choice, or the universe reminding me I don't control shit.
Back to these stories though- reminding me I'm not the only one.
