I used to think I was a good judge of character. Then I got all screwed over and trusted nobody. So I was alone for a long time because I hated men. When I finally met a nice one, I broke his heart. Then I hated myself. So I spend time alone for a long time because I figured I was all screwed up from not trusting anybody, and I thought I was a good judge of character again.
Then I met that damn Brian.
I guess I wanted that stupid white knight. I wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe there was someone who was perfect for me. A man who could make me laugh, and have seriously deep discussions about life and love or nothing at all. Someone smart and clever (which is not at all the same thing) and someone who really saw me. Someone who could make me laugh, debate issues without it turning into drama or disaster, and all the while – rock my world.
It was Brian. He was the one. The guy who made kissing all the frogs in life worthwhile in order to recognize the one. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more special or in tune with someone, I do know I was falling madly and deeply. I was trying to hold back, but telling myself to let go, wanting to have control, but losing myself in the delirium of letting it go where the fates took things. It has been a blissful ride.
He listened to my poetry. He laughed at my jokes. I felt strong around him. And fragile. I got him. He got me. Worse than it all though – I saw tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. I saw years from now, and liked it. I didn’t feel desperate to define where we were at, or how it felt. I was in the now and it felt right. Like we fit.
Then I found out about her. Or she found out about me I guess, since she has been his for 5 years, whereas I have been his for a month. And I should be happy it was one month, not one year, or one decade, but I can’t really be happy because I was never his. Or at least he was never mine. And I guess it was easier for me to slam the door on his perfectly beautiful face, than it would have been for her to pack all his things and split the dog two ways. But I didn’t really have a choice anyway – I could see it in his eyes. The years of being screwed over have trained me to recognize the end. The panic in his eyes when she confronted, then left. The regret on his face. That’s when I knew it was over.
It would be easier though, if he wasn’t the perfect match. If we didn’t fit. If he hadn’t rocked my world.