The One...wtf

The one. What the f does that mean anyways. The one that loves you the most. The one you love the most. The one that stays with you. The one that marries you. Who knows. What I do know is that I want to be it. But what is IT? In my personal opinion is that I’m pretty fantastic. Sure I have my idiosyncrasies that confuse things but I’m basically a catch in my own eyes. But then again my eyes are not the ones looking at me...dammit.

They say the people that love the most or the hardest are the same exact ones that were most hurt previously. Bullshit. I mean true in my case, but I call bullshit in most cases. At this stage in our lives we’ve all been hurt, scarred, damaged, might as well be on the clearance aisle at the closest Dollar Store-"probably will work, but no guarantee!" But hey it’s a discount, no flowers necessary, no extra expense, no wedding, and they're cool with sex, it’s a deal right?!

But the truth is, 40 something or not, we still want love, sweet forehead kisses, gentle waist touches and long smiling looks. We want to be wanted. We want a partner, a ride or die. We want someone to feel they simply cannot go another day without us in their lives everyday. We are still human, slightly jaded and beautifully misshapen (not beautifully broken because if I hear that phrase one more time I may pluck out each eyelash individually with chopsticks), but still young, eager hearts down deep despite our strongest fears. A tingle producing touch, a lasting look that makes our tummies tumble, we still want THAT. We still want to be the ONE for someone. It’s like that damn claw machine at every fair that almost catches the prize you want but only brings it up a few seconds just to let it go at the very last minute. And fifteen dollars later you move on to skeeball because at least you can get a few in and walk away with...well, nothing.

You let your heart fall, crash really, into someone new, someone who makes that tumble a reality. And then maybe you were too much, or maybe they weren’t enough but the spark fades much faster than it was ignited. You sit and stare, because you do stare, at all the happy couples around you, families, anniversaries, birthdays, they all celebrate and share these fantastic moments with you and the world and with themselves. And meanwhile you've spent a couple decades without the 'other". That plural word is so hard to swallow. Themselves, them, they...it means Plural, more than fucking one. That’s a strange concept when you’ve done it on your own as one since you can remember. You want it. You crave it.

And really why is it that hard--it isn't. You've made it this far haven't you. It's hard because those who don't do it on their own take for granted that there are TWO people sharing the load, even if not entirely 50/50 the whole time. Hard because they don't see after a hard day sometimes it's nice to just lie with another warm body, one that is not a canine breathing and farting heavily on you. Hard because sometimes you just want someone to take a part of the load to lighten your weight. Hard because sometimes it's just nice to have that someone there to look at you confused and probably walk away without actually helping, but they are there nonetheless.

So no I'm not bitter, and I'm not whining. I'm simply saying if there are two of you in your household and maybe you like each other a little bit still, just be happy. Enjoy that, find that jolt of ecstasy again somehow, dance together, get drunk together, laugh together, annoy each other and then look back at the other person and think 'wow, I'm kinda lucky to have someone along for the ride'. And of course if you're with someone where this isn't a possibility, get the hell out of dodge and find that person. But please don't complain about how the other doesn't clean up after themselves or doesn't follow the rules of no shoes on the newly mopped floors or fails to read your mind when you're tired and ask for dinner. Because at the end of the day, they are still a human that has decided to be there...for you...and mores WITH you.

I know everyone's struggles are different and every story has its own plot and character lines but there are many times in life where we fail to recognize the beauty of a fully filled trash bin, the happiness of a loud night of debating over who didn't pick up their laundry, a quiet morning where you're exhausted but making coffee for two. It is certainly one hundred percent (or more) relative, but cherish the extra bodies in your household that have warmed you at night, irritated you at daybreak and made you laugh by dinnertime. It is not something we all have. It's not just about money, finances are always easier with two incomes. It's not about chores, everything is easier when everyone chips in. It's about the voices and heartbeats that have chosen you and to whom you've granted access to your life that make all that more sweet. It's something to be cherished because it is indeed rare.

And as for you, the current target of my affection...You are the lump in my throat, you are the coil in my tummy, the hole in my head, the aching in my heart. I sometimes get lost in your smile. You are the dream in my nightmare, those endless pangs. We are entangled somehow at least in my world. Such is the will of my seemingly dark heart, willing to rise from the debris, from my shadowed memories, and yet it rises,. Swallowed by signs to turn back, it rises from the ashes, and finds your direction almost magnetically.

And yet here I am, offering my heart to a distracted soul who cant even say 'I care about you'. Note to self: maybe just maybe we are not the one but it sure was worth a shot.