Quiet Desperation
I admit it. I’m jealous. Of Dolly and of everyone else who has a steady, good relationship was someone they love. I want that feling, too. I want to fall into someone’s arms at the end of the day and know that I’m comforted, that I’m loved, and that I love them back.
::Sighs:: I have this quiet desperation within me to have a boyfriend. To be in love. To have that quiet comfort with another person. To be able to fit with someone like a puzzle piece.
I wonder if I’m capable of it. I honestly don’t know. And I can’t seem to meet any guys who I don’t scare off, or who are actually interested in me as anything other than a friend. If they even see me as a friend . . .
I wish I could just find that one, that Prince Charming. I know now that not everything will be perfect. I know now that love isn’t the be-all and end-all of things. That after the romance wears off, work needs to be done. Love takes work. Relationships take work.
But sometimes, with some people, they don’t seem to. Some people just seem to have this pefect balance in their relationship with a boyfriend, significant other, however you want to phrase it. I want that balance. I want to be sitting in a room with someone, doing two completely different things, and be able to occasionally look up at them and see them staring back at me. Or else realize that we’ve looked up at one another at the exact same time.
::Sighs:: I don’t want what I’ve so often seen in my own house, or with other people. I don’t want a relationship where the people have no business being together. I don’t want a relationship held together by threads. I want a tapestry, rich and full and vibrant and bright with all the colors of the rainbow. I want . . .
I want . . .
I want what I always write about.
I want that kind of love.
I want the love that I write about. Because . . . because if nothing else, I know that I can write a happy ending for those characters. And if I can write a happy ending for storybook characters, why can’t I write one for myself?
::Sighs::