I'm in love. There, I said it.
I know you're now expecting rainbows and butterflies, but that just isn't the reality. That's the fairytale. The white knight. The damsel in distress. The happily ever after. What really happens are struggles, tears, heartbreak, and pain in the midst of intensely happy moments. Why isn't it picture-perfect, you might ask.
For starters, I've always been attracted to emotionally unavailable men. I don't mean to be; I'd do almost anything to change that and have a happy relationship. The problem is that I don't realize these men are closed off until I've already fallen for them. This scenario is a recipe for disaster. I've had my heart ripped out and pulverized more times than I can count. But this time is different. All those times before, I loved him. This time, I'm in love with him ("him" refers to different people). Yes, there is a difference between loving and being in love. Love is when you care deeply about somebody and their happiness. Being in love is so much worse. It's seeing every single imperfection in all its glorious beauty. And my God, is he beautiful. I'm not talking about his perfectly sculpted body, his handsome face, or how he looks in slacks and a button-up shirt (though those are nice perks). I mean the way he looks into my eyes after he's told me his innermost thoughts. The way he rubs my nose with his as he kisses me. The way he hugs his nieces, so tightly (and the way he hugs me, too). How we can talk about anything without judgment.
So what do you do when the love of your life can't reciprocate? I don't know. I simply do not have any idea. For now, I wait. I wait for the day when I don't feel like my whole world is beginning and ending simultaneously. I hold out hope, even if I shouldn't. I continue to be the optimist and hopeless romantic I've always been.
