The Trying Skin I'm In

I'm finding it difficult to concentrate. In a good way. A great way.

First I said good-bye. Now I'm saying hello. And thank you for helping me try on a different skin. I'm even going to keep some of these new traits.

The togetherness helped me figure out who I am not. The togetherness also blinded me from what I thought I hated about myself; I buried away these things because it seemed like the right thing to do for you.

The separation is helping me figure out who I always was; it also made me see that I love these things about myself. I'm sorry that you didn't.

I was deep. I was emotional. I was poetic. I believed in romantic, corny, overwhelming, earth-shattering, heaven-sent love. I knew what love was. I trusted in love even though I knew it hurt me sometimes. I wrote about my feelings. I prayed to and trusted in God. I believed in deep connections and meaningful relationships. I fought angrily and forgave whole-heartedly.

And then I put that all away because I thought I was being childish. I thought it was time to grow up.

Now that I'm grown up, I realize that it's OK to be me. It's OK to be that side of me. Before the togetherness, I didn't recognize those traits in me. Now, I see it and I like it. I love it. Me. Someone will take me for who I am. And even if no one does, that's OK, too.

And something else: they call it 'serial long-term relationships'. They say it like it's a bad thing. Well, if this is bad, then I don't want to be good. It's what I do. I try and try again. It comes with the package of being emotional, hopeful, self-indulgent, and poetic. Some find themselves in solitude while others do so hand-in-hand with the right person.

Sometimes the trouble is in finding the right person.

Sometimes the special thing about finding the right person is you find them when you weren't searching for them because you were only searching for yourself. Sometimes you find them when you were searching for yourself because they've known the real you that you've been looking for all along.

Just sometimes, though. Not all the time. I'm just dreaming up fantasies here.

Lilian

The following is an unfinished draft from one year ago. I have no background information to provide about it -- I don't remember why I wrote it, what was going through my mind at the time, or how I intended for it to continue.

That being said... I hope that I haven't lost your interest and that you keep reading anyway!

Lilian

Her real name is Elizabeth, but when she was 4, she told her
parents to start calling her Lilian because she felt that that really should be
her name.

Lilian hates when things match. She has three piercings in one ear
but only two in the other; earrings don't come in fives and Lilian's earring
never match. Neither do her socks, for that matter. Her rule against
matching extends far but falls short of her shoes; she tried wearing a
different shoe on each foot once, and found it to be a very uncomfortable
ordeal. Her clothes never match.

Lilian always wears black clothes - skirts, turtlenecks, flood pants...
the list goes on. But Lilian loves colors; her body is a blank canvas for the
bright splashes of color she applies every morning in the form of baubles and
beads.

Lilian is an artist, but she doesn't know it yet.

*

Human Love

This is a response to a good friend of mine, to whom I'd like to respectfully disagree that love is not a label nor is it a conglomerate of feelings. Love is an action. When "I love you", it's something I do. How I feel for you carries no weight until I've done something about it, like called to see that you've made it home alright, or until I've asked about your morning, your day, your late afternoon, and your evening all over a late homemade dinner. Conversely, if I make you happy, excited, curious, nervous, proud, elated, then it is what it is, but you aren't loving me until you've done it. One can love romantically, filially, and friendlily.

Love exists, but it's like a good jump shot: it begins with the follow-through.

Ever After

...happily and romantically, I'm sure of it.

Do you ever play and replay love stories in your head of times that happened, that will never happen, that you wish never happened, and that just may still have a chance of happening?

I have... I still do. In those instances, I'm sometimes met by nostalgia, longing, confusion, guilt, and even butterflies.

It's fun to play with the what-if(s) and reply the what-did(s); for me, I'm able to learn more about myself, how I've changed, and what I'm looking for in a SO.

Also, it fills me with the satisfaction that everything happens for a reason, the gratification that comes from knowing that once in a while, the stars do align in my favor, and the faith that sounds like: 'hey, if things have worked out this well so far, why not have a happily-ever-after?'

Yes, I am convinced that my life is one epic love story.




quotable:

A: "...smiling makes me really happy..."
L: "Your smile makes me happy."