I routinely gave up on finding that which would free my heart from the chains of despair, only to find fleeting romances that neither lived up to my fantasy nor lived longer than a single night. Just when I thought there was no hope, I fell in love, or what I thought was love. And it too turned out to be a dream cum nightmare. He didn’t feel the same, no one ever does.
My need to be loved overwhelmed his obvious faults and still I loved him for all that he was and all that he wasn’t. But he couldn’t or wouldn’t give me a chance; my words left him unmoved as did my beauty, simply another pretty face in a long line that snakes about these five boroughs. Whatever connection we had was simply wishful thinking on my part.
Sure, we could have been friends, probably good if not great friends. But my heart is not a toy and whatever love he may have had for me didn’t make up for that which he stole from me. See, I had been waiting for him, or someone like him, who understood, who cared, who could see me for who I was and wanted to be. But maybe he didn’t see me at all. Or refused to see, or just didn’t like what he saw for it reminded him too much of himself.
Yet, I saw him, and saw through him, and still I remained. I was, in fact, capable of love, or something like it, but it was a futile discovery as I am incapable of being loved. The experiences, before and after him, go to prove it. 10 years of dating and I’ve found no one capable of loving me. Countless hours and dates and online profiles and I’ve found no one capable of loving me. And the fault lies partially with me.