Please press play:
“Love is giving someone the power to destroy you, and trusting them not to.”
RIGHT??!?!!! As twisted and dark as it sounds, it is my absolute favourite definition of the word. I’ve come to realize I don’t know what the hell ‘being in love’ is. Hindsight being 20/20, I think of all the boys from my past with a side-eye and a smirk on my face; I wasn’t in love with not one of them. The thing is I’ve given this power to entirely too many people without clueing in that I didn’t trust them AT ALL. That’s jacked up.
I liked the attention and the nearness and what they represented. I loved how that made me feel. But my ultimate attraction to them stemmed from various qualities they possessed: their tastes in music, the gripability of their buttocks, the distinctiveness of their crow’s feet. I was glamoured by the IDEA of love, the potential of who this man may end up being in my life. I was already dressing our children exactly like them. I’ve been perfecting different recipes for years because I want to have a dinner repertoire to pull from when I have to start cooking for more than my tired, black ass. I can admit to my delusions of grandeur. And there’s nothing wrong with having these delusions UNTIL it interferes with reality in a bad way. In a depressive way, which is what it does to me. It doesn’t matter how many friends want to tell me not to let it bother me, or how many times my parents tell me it’s the guy’s loss…it simply affects my soul and it always will. Everyone is not going to experience disappointment in the same way so if I need to cry beneath my sheets for 48 hours, let me do that for f*ck’s sake. I don’t care who the hell you be or what facade you play for your friends and family during your everyday life – you’ve fantasized about the “what ifs” with a potential mate. Don’t lie to me or my eyes.
It comes down to this: I must’ve looped like…a vagillion times. There’s no way one person could experience all of this sameness! These guys are not pulling any new moves and there have been SO many first dates in the last 365 days. HOW MANY MEN AM I GOING TO CHALK UP TO BEING A LEARNING EXPERIENCE? Probably quite a few more tbh, tbh. Sigh x 5!
I really don’t have high expectations when it comes to men, but then expectations are subjective, aren’t they? So maybe I have the highest of high expectations. I mean, I don’t HAVE to be attracted to him, do I? *single blink* Guys, I just don’t know anything anymore. Every time I find a guy who possesses the things I need and shows me things I never knew I wanted, he’s always missing…something. Something intangible that all but dries up m’flower. So like EVERY man who has dated the infant known as Taylor Swift has said, maybe WE’RE the problem, honey. Until the day a man is on bended knee presenting me with a block of the finest of aged cheddar cheese and I’m catching whiffs of his Old Spice after shave, I will NEVER know love. I truly believe this. That is how I imagine the big moment of realization. (If this moment does happen, then y’all will be the 2nd to know after my own heart.) Until then, I need to get a vise grip on these emotions I feel for these men who do not deserve more than the single blinks I direct them over a pint. That I paid for. Honestly, y’all are cute and I could look at the beautifully dark half-crescents you call eyelashes flit about while you’re entering REM sleep until the end of time…but let’s be serious, you want to pound my box and only that and that’s not what I signed up for. Want all of me, not just my V…m’kay?
So maybe at 31 years of age, I’m not even ready for love (*cue the damn India.Arie track*). Maybe that’s what things are getting down to. I’m pretty sure I’m mature enough to admit this to myself. If I was ready, I wouldn’t go batsh!t boogaloo every time I meet a boy who smiled at me, right? How will I know I’m ready, you ask? I’m assuming I’ll know when it happens and not a second before.
But just a question: has patience ever been tried for manslaughter? I’m asking for a friend. Seriously.