hopeless
Being a hopeless romantic sucks.
You start out slowly about 10 years of age. You read "Anne of Green Gables" through "Anne's House of Dreams" and you think you'll marry the boy who made fun of you in school but who grew up to be a doctor just like Gilbert Blythe. Then you progress to "Emily of New Moon" and by the time the Emily saga finishes in pathos and bathos in "Emily's Quest" you've discovered that the road to true love can also be as painful and beautiful as a painting by Teddy Kent. Eventually you find yourself enthralled with soap opera couples (Luke & Laura, Bo & Hope) that do permanent damage to your pysche by convincing you that the bad boy on the motorcycle can and will be changed by your love. Finally, you reach adulthood and realize that your hopeless little heart is forever altered, and that alteration will make it entirely too difficult to find your soulmate.
In real life or IRL as we say I have had my share of love stories (requited and not), passionate affairs, and romantic encounters. I've never been married solely because the two times I was even somewhat close I was with the wrong person. I have few regrets only because I had SO MUCH fun experiencing it all, but now that I'm the ripe ole age of __ (it's really none of your business), I do wonder if I didn't miss my Gilbert, Teddy, Luke, and Bo somewhere along the way.
There is one man that I grew up believing was mine. That we were fated. It's been 17-18 years since he married another. We haven't spoken since his wedding, and I have no clue if he's happy or not. I miss him every day, every year, and I do recognize now that he was only man who has ever loved me unconditionally. He was probably the last man I was ever completely honest with as well.
That says a lot about why my subsequent relationships have failed doesn't it?
Man, set out to write a blog about being a hopeless romantic and self-discovery ensues.
It still sucks to be a hopeless romantic.
Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you the story about my not so destined love.
You start out slowly about 10 years of age. You read "Anne of Green Gables" through "Anne's House of Dreams" and you think you'll marry the boy who made fun of you in school but who grew up to be a doctor just like Gilbert Blythe. Then you progress to "Emily of New Moon" and by the time the Emily saga finishes in pathos and bathos in "Emily's Quest" you've discovered that the road to true love can also be as painful and beautiful as a painting by Teddy Kent. Eventually you find yourself enthralled with soap opera couples (Luke & Laura, Bo & Hope) that do permanent damage to your pysche by convincing you that the bad boy on the motorcycle can and will be changed by your love. Finally, you reach adulthood and realize that your hopeless little heart is forever altered, and that alteration will make it entirely too difficult to find your soulmate.
In real life or IRL as we say I have had my share of love stories (requited and not), passionate affairs, and romantic encounters. I've never been married solely because the two times I was even somewhat close I was with the wrong person. I have few regrets only because I had SO MUCH fun experiencing it all, but now that I'm the ripe ole age of __ (it's really none of your business), I do wonder if I didn't miss my Gilbert, Teddy, Luke, and Bo somewhere along the way.
There is one man that I grew up believing was mine. That we were fated. It's been 17-18 years since he married another. We haven't spoken since his wedding, and I have no clue if he's happy or not. I miss him every day, every year, and I do recognize now that he was only man who has ever loved me unconditionally. He was probably the last man I was ever completely honest with as well.
That says a lot about why my subsequent relationships have failed doesn't it?
Man, set out to write a blog about being a hopeless romantic and self-discovery ensues.
It still sucks to be a hopeless romantic.
Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you the story about my not so destined love.
