I watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days…again. Um, as if I need pointers. That’s one thing I do pretty well on my own. Reason numero uno: need.
Ironic that everyone I meet thinks I’m independent, savvy, strong, oh, okay, interesting even. I’m tired of being her. I got the wrong nametag at the party. I want to be little Ms. Dependent. To find someone I trust, then wear sweats and be dull. Skip the intersection of interesting and dazzling, and squat at Destination Exhale. Silent, mellow, and tired shouldn’t matter. I want to be able to not “have to be.” To turn off and let someone else get out of bed to turn up the air conditioner. He’ll kiss my head before I fall asleep and whisper bedtime stories until I begin to dream the endings. I just want a soft place to fall, nothing hard, nothing dramatic, something safe and lazy, something like a nap.
Passion can wake me, bite my lower lip in adoration. I want someone to share dirty martinis, oysters, kissing, and every intoxicating note of a song, every hill of a beat. Lick every chord. Share the bed, and the wine, and the occasional toothbrush. I hate how much I want these things. My want scares me.
We learn at such a young age to deny our desires for the common good. And we’ve been doing it so long; we bury them without thinking. And want resurfaces confused and dizzy, and I’m left unsure if what I crave is what I really want. In my silent lazy moments, desire resurfaces and scares the want, but never right out of me. It’s there, lingering, like dormant dreams from the previous night just as you close your eyes for bed. They rush in for a second, and you’re sure you remember, but as soon as you try, you can’t.