Six Breezers Down

There are really only two kinds of relationships -- ones in which you give and the ones in which you take. In your case, the taking exceeding the giving by a obscene margin some would say. And given your track record, you'd agree. You would like to change the stats, if you could, choose who to give and who to take from. But then again, you know better than that, matters of the heart have a mind of their own. 

How do you explain to someone, that for you, love's a non-renewable resource.  Every time you give away some, a part of you withers, blackens, dies. It's not coming back again or healing, its gone. Forever. But that's irrelevant.  You don't care if its hurts because you know, you love the person. And love is not a thing that happens to you very often. So when it does, you open the doors and forget to close them. Until everything that was in there is gone and there's nothing left to give any more.

Not knowing, not suspecting, they will come. Each thinking that it's a part of your act -- the not calling, the not caring, the not feeling. Each so sure that they are different, that they can reform you, that you won't get bored with them. So you humor them, play the game. You flirt, you smile, you say all the right things. For a while, you are happy. Then they begin to want more.  You want to have fun, not think about any of that it. But you still pray that its true, that there will be someone who you will not just care for, but love. So, you try telling yourself and them,  "it was fun", "gimme a call," "its all fine", "we are good", "love ya". Some days you believe it too.  With everyday, the pretense costs you more. But you cant hurt them. So you endure, until you end up doing it anyway. And have them on your conscience. 

So now you have begun to avoid that and this.  When you go out, it's with those who play the same game, the same rules. For fun, nothing more, nothing less.   

But you are smart and funny and even somewhat pretty, so why would you be so shallow, they want to know. You want to them this, but you can't. Because you are 22, forgodsakes. You cannot be so utterly, hopelessly disenchanted, or so bored or cowardly. Maybe you are not. Maybe this is simply coming from straight down the bottle. Maybe tomorrow, when your head settles, you will cringe at this and deny everything vociferously. 

No, no, you do believe in sunshine and daises. You are an absolute fan of happily-ever-afters, in fact, you cry in soppy movies and you dream of a super hero falling in love with you (which you really do). 

And, of course you are not as jaded as you sound. Since the time you were a little girl, even when you thought boys were yuck, you are waiting for The One;  the one who will make you like pink and frills, make you take his name, maybe create a mrandmrsgrouchy dot com where we will have a countdown to the wedding, add stories of how we met, what our friends think of us, upload our childhood to wedding night pictures.  And then take a friends poll on what we should name our seven sons and eleven daughters. 

Of course you believe in all of those.

Just not now. Okay?