I’m picky. Men have to type properly, with no misusages of you’re and your, of their, they’re and there. No libra suns, no gemini moons. No facial hair, no buzzcuts. Has to have social media, but shouldn’t look like they care about their social media. I have no idea what your star sign is, and I have never read a sentence that you’ve written. I started obsessing over you from afar, and it was so easy, because of the picture that I painted in my head.
I broke my own rules two or three talking stages ago, the fall months. After it failed, I showed my friends a photo of his new girlfriend, his actual girlfriend, the one who will eventually warrant communication beyond Snapchat and chivalry without the promise of physicality. I would say, “She’s prettier than me,” and sigh loudly, half-expecting pleas of denial, but no one would say it wasn’t true. They might say, “Well, no matter what you looked like, he would’ve left,” or, “There’s no point in wondering what might have happened,” but no one says the words that I needed (wanted) to hear, even if it was a lie, and deeply-rooted in my own internalized misogyny.
After the fact, I wasn’t upset for long. I found comfort in my family, in music, in movies, and in you. I’m uncomfortable labeling you as a rebound, you were more of a fascination, a muse for what a man’s potential could turn into. I saw you twice when I was out on my daily tasks.
And, the third time, I saw you with her.
You had your arm draped around her. You both have dimples, like me, which might be flattering? I was recently told that dimples are said to be good luck, and I only have one, barely peeking out from my right cheek. I’m not sure what that says about the cards I’ve been dealt. I can tell that you will both have smile lines in a few years, and they will make your satisfaction with one another obvious. You both look like artists. There are people like me, who slap the label of “artist” onto themselves, and then there are people who don’t need that word as a name tag, who don’t even need to prove that they’re talented in their chosen medium, because it is simply who they are, the air that they inhale and exhale. You both are the latter type of person, and someday, you will be an old hippie couple living on a homestead and brewing homemade kombucha in big wooden barrels.
My heart shriveled away at the sight, mostly in embarrassment, and I can recall its sinking between my ribs. I wondered if God was torturing me. I wonder if I match your mentally-painted picture of a perfect girl, if I could play by your rules, should I decide to try.
I can’t. As corny as it sounds, I can’t play by anyone’s rules but my own, and I even break those sometimes. At that moment, I became aware of the fact that despite my constant longing for what seems like everything and everyone, I’m consumed with my own life, and stuck in my own head. I can build a new reality as quickly as the old one disintegrates, which is powerful, and also scary. I don’t find myself getting attached to people easily, but I do get attached to ideas. My mom always says that once you’re finally done with a guy, you’ll recoil in disgust with the fact that you were ever involved with him in the first place. She’s right. It was so easy to forget about you, because my mentally-painted picture of you had been wrong. It was all about me.
In my moments of desperation, I want to be in a whirlwind romance that everyone is jealous of. In my moments of clarity, I’d like to feel secure with myself. I hope that I don’t die unmarried and alone, but alone isn’t always lonely. I have my family, my friends, some so close that I consider them family. My goals, my dreams, my aspirations, and my own thoughts. Dying “alone” doesn’t feel so scary, as long as I’m comfortable with myself.
My biggest dream in life is not to live out a happily-ever-after romance, although that would be a nice bonus. I want to travel the world and eventually live in a community of tiny houses with my friends and family. I will also be an EGO. (A term I invented — it’s an EGOT without a Tony, because I’m not really big on musicals.) The awards will be on display on the living room mantle. I will buy your brand of kombucha in bulk at Whole Foods as I do the weekly grocery shopping, and I will laugh, and I will be grateful for you and also grateful for myself. Emphasis on the latter.