Musings
I have so many things bouncing around in my head right now. I've been up for almost 35 hours. This is the first time I ever recall having insomnia. Because of this, I'm having trouble arranging my thoughts into any sort of order, so I've decided to do another of my wandering monologues to see if I can clear my head and get some sleep.
So, I read her book. She had told me many times I should read it. She thought it would give me insight into myself and her and many of the subjects we have discussed over the last 11 months we've known each other. She was right. I don't know how to explain it, but reading her story gave me an insight into how her brain works and, even though I wasn't even in it (it took place before she ever met me) made me see myself through her eyes, and what I was amazing. That's all I could think when I finished; I was amazing, through her eyes. It wasn't that I was better through her eyes than through my own, or that my flaws were not obvious from that vantage point. It was just that I saw myself, flaws and all, without any expectation of more. It was okay, no, wonderful, that I just . . .was. There were so many feelings and emotions as I read her book. I tried to go back and read it again, so I could more clearly discuss it with her, and cite specific points and examples when we discussed it, as she kept saying that she wanted to. The second attempt, I got about 15 pages in, before I realized that these things in her past defined who she was and how she worked, and, though I still love her, I didn't like her. I've always seen people as they are, but also as they could be. A second layer, super-imposed upon the first. But this was the first time I really saw the reasoning behind why someone was the way they are, not the way they could be, and realized that there was nothing I could do to change that. All the things that I didn't like about her were set in granite by events in her past that I could not affect, control, or shape. I fell out of love with her in that moment, though the echos of that infatuation still tug at my heartstrings when she's around.
I'm lonely. I have so many people that love me and that I love in return, but I spend so much of my time alone. This is probably a good thing, but I dislike being alone. I want to share moments with people, not keep them to myself. I talk too much, but only because I want to share everything with those I care about and, in return, I want them to share everything with me. Society isn't built for this kind of openness and honesty. I meet new people and spend half of my time with them second-guessing myself. Am I sharing too much? How much is too much? Do they see the spark of friendship/love/whatever that I see? Once they see it, is it okay to share then? Are they judging me? Of course they are. Is it going favorably? If I tell them that I think they are amazing/interesting/smart/funny/beautiful, will that change their vote? Will they think I'm trying to flatter them? Will they think I'm trying to take them home to sleep with them. Most of the times, I ignore these voices, and just follow the philosophy that if I screw it up, it's not meant to be. The wealth of amazing, wonderful friends I have attests to the accuracy of this theory.
Why is it so hard for me to fall for someone who actually is interested in me? I'm compatible with so many people. I have so many friends that I could see myself married to and living happily together with them for the rest of our lives. But I feel like I would be settling, giving up on that perfect person who many say has to be out there somewhere. But it works the other way, too. They don't want to "end up" with me. They love me, they trust me, they confide in me, and visa versa. I feel like I'm the surrogate boyfriend, the surrogate husband, etc, to so many of them. I'm comfortable, I'm safe. I push them to be better, but I accept them as they are. I get the feeling that, while they would never say it, because it sounds more negative than it really is, my love is easy to obtain and, therefor, not as valuable as the love and interest of they guys they are always after. I'm also guilty of this. They would say that they do value my love, and my devotion, and it would be true, but there is no romantic interest. They would rather have a guy that doesn't listen, that has to be trained and taught to be the kind of man they want. And I facilitate this. When he doesn't show he cares enough, I show I care. When he doesn't tell her she's beautiful, it's okay, because she's heard it from me. And I'm one of the few people in this world that doesn't expect anything back from this. I do it because it makes me happy to see those I love happy. Because of this fact, I'm afraid I'm going to be alone. This is compounded by the fact that my friends refuse to let me settle. Whenever I take a liking to someone who, in all honesty, would probably not be a good and healthy relationship to have, my friends notice, and tell me I shouldn't, and make me see the flaws that I've turned a blind eye to. But this shrinks the size of my potential dating pool.
Well, I have more up there, but I'm finally starting to fall asleep. Come quickly, sweet sleep.
So, I read her book. She had told me many times I should read it. She thought it would give me insight into myself and her and many of the subjects we have discussed over the last 11 months we've known each other. She was right. I don't know how to explain it, but reading her story gave me an insight into how her brain works and, even though I wasn't even in it (it took place before she ever met me) made me see myself through her eyes, and what I was amazing. That's all I could think when I finished; I was amazing, through her eyes. It wasn't that I was better through her eyes than through my own, or that my flaws were not obvious from that vantage point. It was just that I saw myself, flaws and all, without any expectation of more. It was okay, no, wonderful, that I just . . .was. There were so many feelings and emotions as I read her book. I tried to go back and read it again, so I could more clearly discuss it with her, and cite specific points and examples when we discussed it, as she kept saying that she wanted to. The second attempt, I got about 15 pages in, before I realized that these things in her past defined who she was and how she worked, and, though I still love her, I didn't like her. I've always seen people as they are, but also as they could be. A second layer, super-imposed upon the first. But this was the first time I really saw the reasoning behind why someone was the way they are, not the way they could be, and realized that there was nothing I could do to change that. All the things that I didn't like about her were set in granite by events in her past that I could not affect, control, or shape. I fell out of love with her in that moment, though the echos of that infatuation still tug at my heartstrings when she's around.
I'm lonely. I have so many people that love me and that I love in return, but I spend so much of my time alone. This is probably a good thing, but I dislike being alone. I want to share moments with people, not keep them to myself. I talk too much, but only because I want to share everything with those I care about and, in return, I want them to share everything with me. Society isn't built for this kind of openness and honesty. I meet new people and spend half of my time with them second-guessing myself. Am I sharing too much? How much is too much? Do they see the spark of friendship/love/whatever that I see? Once they see it, is it okay to share then? Are they judging me? Of course they are. Is it going favorably? If I tell them that I think they are amazing/interesting/smart/funny/beautiful, will that change their vote? Will they think I'm trying to flatter them? Will they think I'm trying to take them home to sleep with them. Most of the times, I ignore these voices, and just follow the philosophy that if I screw it up, it's not meant to be. The wealth of amazing, wonderful friends I have attests to the accuracy of this theory.
Why is it so hard for me to fall for someone who actually is interested in me? I'm compatible with so many people. I have so many friends that I could see myself married to and living happily together with them for the rest of our lives. But I feel like I would be settling, giving up on that perfect person who many say has to be out there somewhere. But it works the other way, too. They don't want to "end up" with me. They love me, they trust me, they confide in me, and visa versa. I feel like I'm the surrogate boyfriend, the surrogate husband, etc, to so many of them. I'm comfortable, I'm safe. I push them to be better, but I accept them as they are. I get the feeling that, while they would never say it, because it sounds more negative than it really is, my love is easy to obtain and, therefor, not as valuable as the love and interest of they guys they are always after. I'm also guilty of this. They would say that they do value my love, and my devotion, and it would be true, but there is no romantic interest. They would rather have a guy that doesn't listen, that has to be trained and taught to be the kind of man they want. And I facilitate this. When he doesn't show he cares enough, I show I care. When he doesn't tell her she's beautiful, it's okay, because she's heard it from me. And I'm one of the few people in this world that doesn't expect anything back from this. I do it because it makes me happy to see those I love happy. Because of this fact, I'm afraid I'm going to be alone. This is compounded by the fact that my friends refuse to let me settle. Whenever I take a liking to someone who, in all honesty, would probably not be a good and healthy relationship to have, my friends notice, and tell me I shouldn't, and make me see the flaws that I've turned a blind eye to. But this shrinks the size of my potential dating pool.
Well, I have more up there, but I'm finally starting to fall asleep. Come quickly, sweet sleep.