if only there were a switch

I reached for it. I promise I did, but it was too late.

Too late to turn around and not fall in love with him. I couldn't help myself as I think back on the connections we made and the memories that had become quite the strand of pearls. We would laugh over the same silly things and talk about deeply interesting and smart things. We discussed important things insomuch that I trusted him to see one of the dark corners of my heart. Our friendship came on ever so slowly and the romance of it even slower, so I know I was not playing into a romance addict pattern—we had something. Had being the keyword now.

So here I am writing out in vague generalities about how I wish I could have turned off my heart with a switch. But do I really wish that? Probably not. I love that I have such a near inexhaustible well of love if I have even a shred of hope in me. It tears me up sometimes, in times like now when I am medicating with Häagen-Dazs ice cream bars and unrelenting emotion, yet I am also afforded such bliss when I have moments of hopefulness that it is worth it to throw my heart under the bus in the off chance the driver will stop and see me for once.

All I want is once. To be truly seen once and finally will be where my story truly begins. Until then, I am still writing the foreward in preparation. I am not waiting to write, no, but I do know that my final and true love story is the real story I want. All else is just the lead in. I see my friends and family living their best life with someone who is dedicated and true to them, and that is what I want. I want someone to look at me and decide they want to show me I matter enough to stay.

That all sounds so sicky sweet to me, like, barf, but I mean it. I am tempted to backspace on that last paragraph, but I won't do it. I will share my inclination to feel these sweet and tender feelings that I might stand up for what I want, putting it out there that somehow, someway, it might come true someday. I need it to. My heart needs that much more than a nonexistent shutoff switch.

Until then, I will probably keep one hand reaching for the switch in rebellion and one hand clutching my heart to keep it in my chest the best I can.