I pretend not to be a romantic, but I wholeheartedly am one.
Yesterday I put a love letter in the mail. The man I sent it to knows that it is coming, and has already rejected me. Yes, I know I'm a glutton for punishment. Have I mentioned that I went as a moth to the flame for Halloween one year (1997or '98)?
I'm okay with further rejection from him if it comes to that, since I have decided that I will take the good things from our time together to my next attempt at love. I will take the joy I felt at his kindness and offers of help when I clearly needed it and still pushed him away. I will take the gentleness he showed me. The comfort he gave me. The safety I felt around him.
A week after I was rejected by this man, I had to go to my mechanic. I told him the story, and he said that I'm like him. I throw myself into potential relationships because I date so infrequently. Because I'm so busy. Because I don't make or have the time to put myself out there more. Like him, I give myself fewer options, and so put my everything into the option in front of me. Recipe for disaster, even if the other person has the same feelings. It puts too much pressure on them and they bolt.
Gives me hope. I always have hope. I'm a hopeful skeptic. I've had enough ludicrous dating stories to write a book, and I still have love in my heart to give.
Looking forward to finding my other half, or as Grandma likes to say of her relationship with Papa, my best friend.
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