To touch her soul, if only but once, is all I wish to do. What happens when words aren’t enough? What happens when time is too short to win her over? What if I lose the chance to open up, and show that I’m more than, and in some respects less than, I appear to be? I hope I won’t have to find out, again. If history does repeat itself, well, then it simply means she wasn’t the one. It means my search will start anew.
How many new starts does it take to ensure no more starts are fresh, only jaded? How many fumbled beginnings does it take to make one give up? From hopeful to hopeless then back again – up and down upon the waves – I’ve become afraid of the sea, grown weary of the journey. If the boat sinks I shouldn’t care. I’m exhausted from being a one-man crew. I’m fed up with facing the weather alone and too tired to explain it. Still I go on.
A good heart doesn’t prove itself in a moment. Some people have a giving soul, but they give to all equally and alike. Some people are pretty, but not without makeup. Then, the ones who are may not be pretty on the inside. That doesn’t mean that a homely person is automatically a good person. I’ve met many who were ugly both inside and out. All that I can do is wait and watch. Time proves all, and there’s no cheating time.
Each year I climb higher, but the higher I get, the further away many have become. I won’t apologize for the lines I’ve drawn in the sand. I won’t abandon my bar of entry. I won’t cower in the search for perfection. For me, perfection is the one who will see my struggle and hold me through it. The one who makes me feel like I don’t have to do it all alone. One who I can trust. One who trusts me, is open and honest with me. A woman who I can see being a mother, but also my best friend. A woman who won’t run from or ridicule my flaws, but fills my gaps instead. One whom I can love; be willing to die for.
This journey to find her, this wait, this period of searching has been longer than I ever imagined it could be. Each passing day is a week. Each passing year is a decade. Each new dead-end has been found faster. Each heartbreak has been louder. The urge to give up has become stronger. The nagging to take a couple steps back down is now all-encompassing. The pressure to settle is very tempting, but life-threatening. Though my mind has grown weary, my heart has taken up the watch. More sensitive than ever, it knows what to look for, and even when all of my senses bombard it with their energies, trying to force their desires, it won’t allow me to betray myself.
I braced myself for heartbreak the last time, and in many ways I was. But there were new parts of me that broke; new parts that were given willingly, but no less found serendipitously. I won’t pretend I’m not worried about, even anticipating the next sorrow. I won’t pretend that I’m able to prepare for it either.
I embrace with all new hope that next time will be different. Next time it will last. The next time will stretch into forever. The past will fade into oblivion and all the pains before will be forgotten. When that next time comes, I’ll have no doubts that I’ve finally found the right one. I’ll be glad that all else fell apart at their proper times. I’ll have no regrets, knowing that I gave every try and honest shot, that I didn’t hold back for fear of heartbreak.
Let my heart shatter as many times as I deserve. I’ll brave the waves. I’ll keep climbing without shame. I’ll keep using my words, and meaning them. May she come quickly, and may I not destroy myself with the wrong one for fear of being alone.