I’m single.

Yes, single. And that’s probably the most miserable thing about my life that I can admit. Not because I am pining to meet you, that’s not it. You can take your time. Really. I am taking mine. But it’s miserable because being single has made me feel wrong to be waiting for you.

I’m the girl who people want to push into relationships. They want to set me up on countless dates. They want to survey me from every angle and determine what exactly is going wrong with this situation because I am pretty, and I am successful, and I should have no problem meeting someone already.

I get slotted into a pile of girls who are waiting on their rose ceremonies. They are already wondering if he will open every door and call instead of text. And I don’t care about any of that. Really. Your face at my door will be enough after all of this.

I’ve had to back out carefully from these boxes of what people think it means to be “single and somehow waiting” because they will suffocate me and I won’t remember how to want you any longer.

 

 

I’m caught in a world that tells me never to settle and then double backs to tell me that I shouldn’t have too high of expectations. That people are imperfect. And fairy tales aren’t reality. I know that. I have been perfectly in love with people who never gave me a fairy tale but I would still be coming back to the blue in their eyes if they gave me the option to stay.

Darling, I’m not looking for no Cinderella story. Jeepers, I will go barefoot if you wanna roll that way. I’m not looking for you to call me instead of text me. I am not going to chastise for you for improper grammar (though words spelt out fully in text messages are SO much sexier). I haven’t married you in my mind already (don’t worry) simply because I don’t even know if you like peanut butter and I think I have to know that first. And let’s just be honest, I would be content with a pixie stick and a ring made out of a straw wrapper if it meant we could focus on faithfulness instead of fluff.

I want to eat breakfast at my wedding. I want to laugh from my belly. I want to celebrate the people who brought you to me at long last. I could care less about how we decorate the room. Let’s just throw toilet paper up into the rafters. A pair of Nikes instead of heels would fit me just fine. I just want to be with you forever. And maybe dance that entire night. And I just want to never stand at a crossroads that makes us both wonder if someone already walked away without telling the other person honestly.

 

I’ve been stuck in the middle of unfaithful things before and it is truly the most sunken feeling in the world. To learn your own body is a wrecking ball and that your worth can rest in the hands of someone who never valued what it took for you to build into the person standing before them that day. It’s like two bodies clinging to each other, hoping they can keep one another from walking out the door but unable to open their eyes to see that Trust broke all the windows, and kicked down all the doors, when she broke loose and left them.

Once Trust walks away, and secrets build up in her absence, you’re rarely getting back to a place where Commitment is the centerpiece on a table first set by Love.

That’s my worry. Beyond where I will meet you or how you will think to hold my hand, my worry comes from living in a world where infidelity is a light and laughable thing. Where people call into the radio to debate on whether they should have sex with strangers when their husband won’t touch them any longer. And cheating is expected if your spouse turns out to be boring or bitchy or imperfect in a way that doesn’t serve you.

My worry comes from living in a world where “goodbye” is rarely ever meant because technology has made it easier for us to hold on to old flames just a little longer. And we make movies out of unresolved love stories that leave other girls and guys standing like fools at the altars, left not chosen because their partner’s heart never found the endurance it would take to let an old love die. And so they stopped being honest. And they let it get too far. My worry comes from knowing we still get weak in the knees and we wonder “what if” because it excites us and it gives us adventure. But it breaks our hearts all over again. All at the same time.

 

 

I’m not asking for a fairy tale.

Not the pumpkin. Not the dress. But I expect that both of us are going to show up to this thing like gladiators. With shields. And swords. And cool armor. And all the things it would take to fight for one another, over & over & over again.  You, my dear, are already my favorite thing to fight for. Did you know that? I don’t even need to know the color of your eyes or the quirk in your laugh to know I’m going to fight for you like crazy.

And every single day I grow stronger as a woman, and a leader, and future Someone to you someday but everyday until then I am reminded of just how fragile you already are to me. Just because the human heart is resilient and pumped full with fighter’s blood doesn’t mean it was stitched to handle the tumble dry setting of someone who stumbles over when it means to be faithful. I don’t want to put you through that. I can’t bear to put you through that.

I can’t bear to see your back sunken over and tears running down your face on the day I betray you with flesh. And so I’d rather wait here, not giving trial runs and free subscriptions to my heart out up until the day you come around. I’d rather stay here and learn the crooks and corners of this heart of mine for myself before I ever think you could attempt to understand it too. I don’t need to know your every footstep. I don’t care all the places you’ve been. I just want a loyalty that this world won’t give us.

That’s worth waiting for. It’s worth sacrificing everything for it.

I might be the ogre of singledom. I might be the girl who owns the #foreveralone hash tag and gets it screen printed on tees to sell in the heart of New York City. I might never get the rose from another guy for as long as it takes for you to get here. I. Don’t. Care. Because if and when I find you, that is it.

You get all my human affections. You get all of me. A deal is a deal is a deal. I’m yours.