A Face

I've been overwhelmed by the deliriously lovely comments made on my posts. I have no idea how to respond to them really... Because it's always rather amazing to think that anyone reads my posts... much more people so intelligent and kind. ;) So thank you. Indeed.

Thank you for observing so beautifully. So very, very kindly.

I've gained a bit more perspective on my ex I think. See the other day I had dinner with an old friend from high school. I'll call him Barty... .... In high school he wrote me secret love poems... none of which I ever read or received... I only heard about them second-hand. However, I've found some warmth and reassurance through the years in the idea that he might still have something for me.... I'm fairly sure he doesn't now.

I'm glad for him though. I also realize how minimal the importance of my ex really is in the bigger picture of all the men I've met... But I suppose he did not really reach my soul the way my dear old Barty did... even though Barty and I have never even held hands. I feel saved and yet aghast at the implications.

Then there is the man I will call, The Face. I still have something deep in my heart for him-a young man I developed feelings for at a distance in high school. He's in a serious relationship. I never speak to him. But I admire him anyway.  Mostly, I expect he will never know the difference this side of eternity.

As long as he is happy.... And yet, I hate it... but it is what it is.    Someday I may finally let go of him... But I don't want to just yet. It's a bit like only seeing one work of art for years and years that speaks to the deepest trenches of your soul.... knowing that you will likely never see it again.   I don't want to just clear the memory of him from my mind...   just because it likely will never be...

I guess I just don't feel like I have to be part of the dialogue to enjoy the scene. I can watch from a far distance as his life unfolds and smile... sincerely. Perhaps that comes from being an only child surrounded by adults... I learned to sit in the back seat, be silent and enjoy it. If life is like an unfinished painting  I don't want to touch the paint and smudge the colors.... by any means.

I was accepted at a university in Wales. If all works out as planned, I'll be there in September. I am excited and yet placid. It may sound completely horrible to say this, but I almost feel as though it is my fate. If I believed in fate. Which I am never entirely sure of...

For example, what about that certain young man, the face?  In the movies I would "end up" with him.... under totally unlikely and cringe-worthy circumstances. His current love would be a horrible woman... in the movies. In reality she looks... well... like she could be absolute heaven for him...  No exaggeration.  But reality is also more mysterious...  Better in a way. I suppose.

I need to transition though.

For my entire life I have been watching men traveling past me as I sit and stare blankly, starry-eyed at them. I have to stop my silence. My passive adoration at the broad shoulders, big blue eyes, and robust displays of mirth.

Perhaps I am shy. But that's too simple. I almost wonder if I have just been too awed and confused to know what the hell I'm supposed to do with myself. I mean, when no one arrives and adds the proverbial infusion of color to the world it can seem... odd when compared to well... the movies.... friend's stories... and the gut feeling that love is indeed real. At the weddings of friends it becomes a bit awkward...

Currently Being in my hometown adds to the view.... The other day a mother of a high school friend asked me what my maiden name was... I told her that had not married anyone. She seemed to think I was mistaken. "Oh no, no, what was your maiden name?!"

I now realize that I must not hold on to any expectations of what love is like. Luck may occasionally pose as a lady for Mr. Sinatra, but I think love is like a feather on a windy day. It floats here and there, and lands in the most peculiar places. I can't just stand in one spot my whole life waiting for the feather to plop on my little head-hoping that if I just hold my breath, and stand very still it will increase the odds.

I could spend my whole life waiting for a twist of fate-filled wind.... just the right breeze to hit me. Not that I condemn such behavior. It could be done right...

I just think there are other things I need to do...