I’ve thrown in the towel.
Love does not belong to me.
And then a Jack, Johnny, Jeremy crosses my path and I’m ready to begin the daydream again: the elaborate Fantasy of Forever which can turn one hesitant glance on the sidewalk into a tasteful, yet expertly planned proposal or a series of photos showcasing hand holding, autumn leaves, and a rambunctious dog.
And as I swear “never” – never to the disappointment, never to the pain, never to eating Chex Mix from a family size bag as Bridget Jones and Carrie Bradshaw fill my mind with unreal expectations of Paris, Colin Firth, and a Van Morrison soundtrack – as I say “never,” what I am really saying is “I hope” and “one day” and “maybe.”
And as I say “never,” I will continue to mutter a prayer of a You and a Me.
And as I say “never,” I wish that my pain will inform me for the next time; that I will never again make the same mistakes and that I will never again be made a fool and that I will never again make the same choices that continuously lead me to the same conclusion: I am not enough.
But as I swear, as I say “never” again, as I utter the words, “I’m done,” I know my truth.
I will always choose to love.
And so, this is the road I must travel and I will continue to walk it, stopping for small doses of comfort here, a kiss there, a respite in someone’s arms for a time, until the arms are gone and I find myself walking the road again.
I don’t know if I shall ever reach my destination, a place where Comfort and Intimacy and Forever meet, but I do know, despite my “never,” I will keep walking.