I’m ready to fall in love again.
I have a gaping emptiness that needs to be filled. My past experiences tell me that it’s only a matter of time before the right one comes along, but it is feeling less and less likely that this will happen in a timely manner. I know, I know …
You can’t hurry love.
But the emptiness is calling. Pleading.
It’s harder now than it used to be. For one thing, my requirements have become ever stricter. Yes, “The One” must be exceedingly handsome, this has not changed. But I have learned a thing or two over the years. A candidate that might, at first look, seem absolutely perfect can turn out to be a rapacious hog, undermining my creativity, systematically manipulating me for self-serving purposes. This type of relationship never ends well. Worse yet, I might find that my love’s seed has been deposited throughout the neighborhood and beyond! How humiliating. How shameful.
And then there is the matter of self-preservation. “The One” must be strong, resilient. I don’t want to fall in love only to find that the object of my affections is a magnet for predators. My heart has been broken like this in the past, too many times.
But how long must I wait, how much more can I take?
|When the right one comes along, I'll know it.|
My vacant soil is like an open wound. The frilly green placekeeper will be in a salad bowl by week’s end, which will make the space feel even more barren. More needy. Must I be content with another temporary solution? Another flash-in-the-pan zinnia, which will become old and white before its time, or another sunflower that will be ripped down by rodents at the height of its majesty? I desire permanence. I want a love that will become more beautiful with age, one that will mature with great dignity as its character reveals itself. A magnificent slow-growing conifer that will adjust its habits to enhance its companions. A gorgeous blooming shrub that will perform amazing feats in withering heat.
Love, I am waiting, heartbeats accelerating.
Love, love, where can you be?