The weather the other day was so warm it reached a point of discomfort driving in my car.
For no reason, except perhaps a stubborn refusal to accept the changing seasons, I held back from turning on my AC.
Driving down the road, clutching my iced coffee, I remembered his mutual disdain for hot weather.
I knew somewhere, as he scuffled past the sea of strangers in the city, he had sought the solace of the shade as I had.
Hating the heat (especially when that "heat" is a sunny, breezy day in the low 70's) is an oddity I don't share with many people.
So the first time I heard him complain about the sun I remember thinking, I Love You Even More.
His strangeness complimented mine.
Like all young, inexperienced loves, we parted.
The hopeless romantic dwelling inside me, who refused to stay locked up in the basement of my heart, kept resurfacing at inopportune moments to whisper, He Can't Live Without You. He'll Figure It Out. He Will Declare His Love When He Is Ready.
.....................................
Shoveling the butter in my face I disguised as bread "with" butter, my dinner guest looked at me with earnest.
"I just don't understand how someone with your fabulous personality would put up with that."
Since he was obviously trying to be a gentleman I knew "fabulous personality" was his way of saying "cup size."
I knew I was beautiful.
The way a little girl is aware of her captivating prowess when a room full of grownups watches her twirl in her pink tulle skirt in the middle of the room.
Being seen by so many smiling faces sends pulses of energy across my porcelain skin.
It's like having the spotlight on a stage lit upon me all the time.
It's intoxicating.
The men I work with adore me.
I'm the only woman there who understands the importance of a good pushup bra and a well drawn red lip.
Even customers lingered around after their purchase just to smile alongside my cheery bubbliness.
I am captivating.
Yet possessing this knowledge, even honing it to my advantage didn't diminish my desire for the man who didn't know what he wanted.
.......................................
The problem was trying to explain love.
It was like trying to reason with a manic depressive.
There was no logic to my behavior.
And yet to me I was the sanest of them all.
But how could I begin to describe my own unfathomable reasoning for having faith in a man that could possibly choose me after he had thrown me away?
Could I attempt to divulge in detail the way he remained calm when my face became red and tear stained from unprompted hysterics?
How after intense intertwining thrusts instilling satisfaction to every nerve between my lips and toes he would soften and kiss my forehead?
How he would nurture the little girl living timid inside me by making her rose tea and handing her the tiny stuffed penguin wrapped in my favorite fluffy blanket knowing how deeply it comforted me?
How instead of keeping it tucked away in the back of his closet where it had lived the sixteen months prior he began keeping it on the shelf near the left side of his bed, the side I always slept on?
How could I convey the appreciation I felt for the way he'd always stopped whatever he was doing, on the computer, in the kitchen, to check in with me?
The way he'd walk over and pat me on the head or speak softly a Hello with such simplicity that sighed My Beloved?
The times he'd bring me home some delectable delight so I could know by the indulgence of the dark chocolate that I was special and a part of all he did?
How could any of these scattered memories justify my inability to dismiss him entirely?
........................................
Then I had a startling thought.
What if I didn't ever hear from him again?
What if he never called and instead just learned to live without me?
I had reconciled myself with out fate: We either would be reunited as friends or lovers.
But I hadn't considered the alternative.
He could be lost at sea with the other scores of forgotten boyfriends.
The reality socked me in the gut.
But my pride dismissed the idea.
He called me sweetie less than a week ago.
There must be a glimmer of that guy I fell in love with existing somewhere deep inside his closed off heart.
My pride.
My illusion.
My faith.
My resolve.
Whatever truth might shatter my heart, I held on tightly in the dark hours between sleep.
My fabulous personality wouldn't allow me to accept the fate that my love was mine alone.
Unrequited.
And at a stand still.
........................................
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