June 6, 2010
My current romantic interests are sadly less than interesting.
Sometimes it occurs to me that I work so much that it would be hard to sustain a relationship, let alone find a guy who could understand why I do what I do, and that it grieves me that it takes more than 40 hours a week to save the world.
I miss the kissing. I miss the hugs and the pillow talk and the naps and the flirting. I miss having a guy in my life who laughs at my jokes immediately after instead of five minutes later. And even makes better jokes than mine.
I miss the verbal sparring, both light arguing and improvised renditions of conversations… when one of us says something outrageous and the other just plays along.
I miss playing. I miss it so much. I’m good at making up games. I’m good at making things fun. Once a former boyfriend and I unpacked a box of books, and I made it silly. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the freedom to make something silly.
I miss things I’ve never had but want.
I don’t miss the fighting or the subtle rejection or the unmet expectations or the loneliness – a different kind of loneliness that comes when you know in your heart that it’s not working. That loneliness is the worst kind, and I hope it never shows up on my doorstep again. It’s not welcome here. I will never let it stay again.