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I’ve been jaded too long; distrusting too long; in fear for too long…
I don’t want
to find a man; I want a man to find me. I want him to try to get me; chase me; woo me; want me enough
that he’s afraid to lose me before he’s even got me; make me writhe in ecstasy just from touching my
neck or shoulder; hold back from kissing me so that first kiss will be all the more perfect; love me for who I am and
what I am and what I can offer… someone I can stay with forever…
… and for a moment I thought I had it.
I held this glorious thing… this indescribable thing in my fragile little hands, and I tried so hard not to crush
it as it reeled in my palms. I tried to nurture it and to give it life and breath; tried so hard to let it breathe and allow
it to explore the space between my fingers, to let it crawl at a snail’s pace until it found warmth and comfort right
where it was in my hands. But then it slipped; it slipped through the cracks in my delicate fingers and it fell to the ground
with a clatter. And now I fear it’s gone for good; fear that I’ll be left searching the floor for something that
disintegrated upon impact with the cold floor below; fear that I’ll left bumbling, running my hands along the earth
like a woman searching for her renegade contact lens, hoping, praying for that feeling of recognition as she runs her hand
across the lost and found.
Maybe I was too eager. And maybe in my eagerness, as opposed to dropping that wondrous thing, maybe I crushed it; maybe
I smothered it with the weight of a heavy heart. Maybe it wasn’t lost at all but murdered before it even had chance
to fly. I’m a murderer. And perhaps I’m just too much of a hopeless romantic and too fixated on there being something
more in those nights we shared. Maybe it was just a fluke and those fairy tale nights were meant to expire just as Cinderella’s
did. Maybe it was never meant for anything more.
But a woman can hope, can’t she…?
Perhaps, even though the clock has struck twelve, perhaps there is still something
waiting. If I can just see it through till one, perhaps there’s hope. After all, Cinderella made it through…
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