How many times must I walk home in the frigid cold, fighting frivolous hot tears as they splash down my cheeks, serving as the only warmth in my body? How many times must I hide my jealousy underneath a black jacket, protecting me not only from the winter, but from my own seemingly long-lost dreams, walking right past me, hand-in-hand? How many times must I swallow my pride and my heart, my anxiousness and my hope, after another failed date or encounter? How many times must I feel that pit rising from my stomach to my chest, from my chest to my throat, from the very depth of me to my eyes, where it simply has nowhere else to go, but out?
How many times can my iPhone serve as a form of torment as it refuses to vibrate in my pocket? How many numbers must I save and delete, save and delete, as their owners come and go in and out of my life, in and out of my recent digital history? How many times must I simmer in the aftermath of a great first date, a noteworthy kiss or two, for it to simply, be just that? How many times do I have to write-off another guy into the extended list of could-be’s, would-be’s, should-be’s but are actually, can’t-be’s, won’t-be’s and shouldn’t be’s? How many times must I be fooled, yet again, by some man who felt somewhat different, but turned out to be like all the rest? How many times must I be a warrior for love, must I seek it, promote it, believe it, relish in it’s infinite possibilities, before it becomes a possibility for me?
How many times must I pretend to not be disappointed when a someone doesn’t turn into a something? How many times must I damn myself for getting my hopes up, when time tells me that just like the last three years – and counting – that it’s a bad idea to have any fantasies of relationships at all? How many times must I watch the most wonderful women I know search for love, just like me, and come out empty-handed, again and again? How many times must I hear a man tell me -or tell my friends – that he just isn’t ready for commitment? How many times must a guy weasel his way into your life and stay only long enough to crawl under your skin?
How many times must I put and pour myself out there, only to then consider leaving the city I love the most to find the love I want the most in another city, somewhere, that I don’t know where to pin-point? How many times must I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a huge crowd of eligibility, putting all that I have to offer for them all to see, only to feel completely ignored? How many times must I remind myself that it isn’t my fault, that there isn’t something wrong with me, that it is only timing I’m waiting for – and a hell of a lot of luck?
How many times must I be strong, when a pair of arms to crumble into would alleviate this lonely heaviness? How many times must I hide away in the darkest time of the night, muffling tears I’m ashamed of? How many times must I close my eyes tightly, dismissing the disappointments, the rejections and the bitter sting that comes when I try to remember what it felt to be held and kissed by a man who loves me? How many times – how many months? – must I refrain from sex, when I have those same innate needs that so many men haphazardly capitalize on every night? How many times must I pray for the weight of good man to weigh on my body, fascinate my mind and captivate my heart?
How many times must I cringe at the thought of going home, to watch my parents dance, while I sit at the kitchen table, drinking wine and looking out the window wondering when it will be my turn? How many times must I watch love unfold around me, through strangers and in the lives of my dearest friends, before something magical manifests in my life? How many times must I write word after word of inspiration and courage before I find the courage and inspiration within myself, to keep on believing them?
How many times must I walk through my home, my New York City, with it’s sparkling streets and it’s incomparable energy, wondering why I can do everything I set my mind to, except for the thing that I set my heart to? How many times can I repeat in my head, on these blog pages and in the silliest, most hopeful parts of my heart that it will – it will, it will, it will! – work out…
…before it does?