I love movies and the unrealistic world of dreams and possibilities that they present. There’s something intoxicating about letting yourself go in the fantasy, even if only for a few hours.
All of us have had our falls into and back out of love, like, or lust. To some extent we do it because we’ve been preconditioned by society. Sitcoms tell us that we can find someone, fall in love, and get married in thirty minutes. Dramas tell us that we can do all of that and get a divorce in sixty. With my track record I wonder if I’m living in a tragedy. Exactly how much time do I get?
I’ve become a non-believer in love. I got the lessons out of the way early and have reserved myself to the sidelines, rather than diving in and playing the game. Observing is one of my favorite activities, though what I see confirms my own beliefs. I watch friends that treat their boyfriends like trash and manipulate them to ensure they remain in the relationship. I watch marriages that are used out of convenience and the love has all but evaporated. I see the person that stays for the children and wastes away. If these are the things that represent love then I am sure that I’ve made the right choice.
Once in a blue moon I feel as though my mind may change. When a stranger pays a small compliment, and I realize that maybe everyone isn’t as awful as I think. For example, a guy working at Starbucks tonight was giving me eyes and told me he “really likes when people come in with that color of hair.” I had to refrain from laughing, but it was cute… and probably the most honest thing I’ve heard in a long time.
Then there was the guy on the bus. A three-hour trip and he managed to sit only a few seats away. We played the flirty eyes game for a while, and he even managed to talk to me for a moment. One problem for me here is that I have perfected the art of being cold. When I’m with friends, I love to chat and make myself a part of the group. When I’m one-on-one with a person that is potentially interested in me, I shut down. A defense mechanism that I’ve used for a long time, not that it does me much good. I had convinced myself to give the bus guy my number once I saw my stop approaching. I went so far so to write it down when I was gathering my belongings. He looked back and smiled as I was getting out of my seat, but then I caught up to myself and put the paper back in my pocket.
There is a little bit of regret in the forefront of my mind as I write this. I should have given the guy my number and at least given him the chance to confirm or refute my assumptions, but I didn’t. My defense of being frigid has literally consumed me at this point. I’ve made the mistakes, with all the wrongs guys, and it just didn’t seem worth it. Would he turn out to be nice? Perhaps. Would he be another Devil, Trainer, Dollar? Maybe.
So, I reserve myself to enjoy the fantasy of the movies. The only place where I can see love as being possible.