Attraction’s endless masquerade. Not so much a party, more like a never-ending game. I pretend I am this woman and you pretend you are that man and we pretend that everything is perfect. But we never truly connect, because you cannot feel the touch of another with gloves on.
I am not perfect, I hate to be the one to tell you that. In fact, I am as far from being perfect as a person can get. I am not always the goody-two-shoes over achiever with drive and ambition that you think I am. I can be boring at times and I don’t always have something interesting to say. I am sometimes lazy and I often do fantasize about the taking the path of least resistance when attempting to accomplish my goals.
Also, I often frustrated when people do or say stupid things and I don’t always have something positive to offer as feedback when that happens. Most of the time I will just ignore it or try to change the subject. I can be very silly too and my sense-of-humor can border upon the absolute goofy. Sometimes I cry at the stupidest things, like during certain TV commercials or when I can’t fit into my jeans. I can be withdrawn and sullen too at times, feeling as though I am stuck in a life I did not create for myself, as if my life is the by-product of circumstances and not of deliberate direction, but I soon realize that I am just being hard on myself, yet again. It is the same sort of thing that a lot of people lament; thinking that every moment of life is supposed to have meaning and most of the time it is the quite the opposite; life’s meanings have moments. It is the journey that counts, not necessarily the moments where we arrive at our destination.
Such is the game of attraction and dating and it can be outright maddening to at times. I am supposed to appear as if I am always cheerful, playful, and brilliant. Always full of energy, always light-hearted and uncomplicated. That is just not me. I am very complicated, very complex. My moods can change quite often and I am constantly thinking and analyzing things, trying to rework a situation in my mind until it all works out the way that it should. Always careful to plot my moves and words carefully.
I am not always sure what it is that I want most of the time or what I mean by the things I say. I don’t need to be interpreted or even to be understood at every moment of every day. I just want and need to be accepted for who I am, even if that is someone I am not always so sure about. I’d like to think that I am a work in progress, that the best parts of me are still hiding up my sleeve. I think it was my college art professor that said it best, "Sometimes you can beat a horse to death, but you can also sometimes beat a dead horse back to life." Keep trying, keep going, keep moving. Things can finally turn out the way that you want if you keep at it long enough.
But why am I not supposed to feel so great when you are around me? Why am I not supposed to tremble when you move in to reach for something just past me at the dinner table? Am I am not supposed to love how great you smell and how it is left all over me and my clothes after you hold me so tight to tell me goodnight? Why am I supposed to hold all of this inside and act as though it does not mean so much to me? Because a woman like me MUST have had plenty of men that were crazy about me, so why would someone like me be crazy about you? Right? So we lie to ourselves about how much we care and we lie to each other. If only we would be honest and forthcoming from the beginning.
I would tell you that you light me up inside in a way that I have never known before. I would confess that I love the way I look through your eyes? Just the sound of your voice makes me feel comfortable and safe, warm and protected. The strength of your arms wrapped around me makes me feel more like a woman than a thousand romantic songs sang to me night and day. And when you look at me with that look, it is as if all space and time ceases to exist. I stare at your face intensely, putting it to memory. It’s as if I look at the sun too long, I can close my eyes tightly and I will still see it all day long!
But then there is always the masquerade. The mindless game-playing over our misunderstanding of the communication differences of the sexes; where insecurity and competition dictate to us that we have to hide our true feelings and passion and curb it way, way back. You are never supposed to know how much I enjoy you, how often I think about you or how much I long for you to reach out to hold me and to whisper to me that you feel the same.
Why must we play? Why must we do all of this nonsensical pretending? Tippy toes, tippy toes. Don’t ever tread too heavily. Sip, sip we just sip from the cup. Never are we ever to drink from the river together. So we continue to live a life this small, this shallow and pale and deny the vastness of the unexplored brilliance of deeper and honest attraction, connection and truthful openness. We ignorantly continue to deny ourselves the experience of the magnificent onslaught of the pulsating flush of endless possibility rushing through our veins at lightning speed leaving our hearts racing and our bodies breathless and beautifully spent in the miracle that’s called love.
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