I miss what it feels like to like someone....to really like someone.
The caterpillar evolving into a butterfly, producing that familiar feeling in my stomach.
Those waves crashing against my soul kind of feeling.
The potential of so much being manifested in two beings so small, in comparison.
I believe men and women, make ourselves so much more complicated than we really are. We all for the most part want the same things.
I personally am always skeptical of any person who says that they have never dreamed or wished for a happily ever after.
I sometimes feel selfish for wanting more than I have - for always wanting the up-sale. It comes natural to me, I suppose.
My mother used to complain that I was never satisfied as a kid, I always saw ways that something could be better, and better I had to have.
It manifested itself into my adult life - infected my love life.
I know some great guys, amazing guys....but I always find a reason to say more. It's not as terrible as it sounds, I promise.
It's never been about looks, never about money, never about sex.
I've broken many hearts, and hurt many feelings - most believing that they'd done something, when the truth is that they didn't fulfill me, they couldn't, my cup didn't runneth over.
I believe in accountability, but more so importantly, love accountability - no one else can be accountable for my heart, at least the way I can - so why would I not be stingy about it? Why would I not only want the best for it?
Who's going to protect it, you? Prove it.
A lot of guys have called me amazing, funny thing is, they have no idea the kind of responsibility or rather the accountability that comes with them merely speaking it, never mind if I actually am or not.
There's a certain danger in wanting me - I'd like to think the man for me has that same characteristic. We'd immediately recognize it in each other.
Intimidation or fear isn't provoked within him as he knows that won't serve him on his journey.
As much as I miss the process to love and actually loving, I despise what it feels like to discover that it isn't enough.
Not enough to save you, save them, save what was built. It all sort of comes crashing down. Nothing can erase what that feels like.
Hope. It is what I do most days, hope that he's out there, my proof, proof that I'm not crazy - that my desire for more than what I've had is warranted and lives within him.
In the meantime, I wait - which is the worst.