I hope it’s coming to me too

 

You think that you’ll meet somebody. When you’re young you imagine your wedding and your kids, and your kids’ names. Everything is so perfect and it’s certain to happen to you cause everyone seems to be happy all the time. People in movies fall in love. People love each other, then why not you? Right? But then the years start to pile up. You go years alone. You’re 16 and people are having sex, going to prom, dating, and you’re there with your books and your movies thinking “Hey maybe i’m just a late bloomer.” Then you hit college and you look at yourself in the mirror for longer than usual, trying to find what exactly is wrong with you? There are uglier people in the world than you, who have mates. There are people who are more dysfunctional than you and are married. Why is it that you still haven’t even found something remotely close to a love…a true love…or even a fake lying lousy stinky love. Anything will do. You’re desperate. Desperate for anything…

Then you find something. You find someone who is okay with you but you don’t really like him. You settle because it’s been so long and this might be your one and only chance and some people haven’t or never will get this chance. They’re settling too because they are just like you., and you both know it…or least maybe you both do. Then you slowly….or quickly realise that you hate every moment of it. You want to throw up. You look at yourself and you’re ashamed, but your keep on trucking. You keep going on dates. You keep putting up with all kinds of shit. You hate this. You’re not supposed to hate this, but you do. You hate this person , and you know that your settling and you’re ashamed. This isn’t right. You make a game out if. You try and succeed in finding as many faults in this person as possible before you give up. “immature’” “controlling” and soon you’re alone again.

Then you convince yourself that that wasn’t meant to be. The right person for you is coming. That somehow this was just to beginning of a beautiful story in which you are the plucky, cute, or misunderstood lead who gets the guy all the girls want, even if you don’t want him, or think he’s all that great. Then you would share those kindred moments you see in tv and it won’t be awkward and disgusting. It would be touching and comfortable. It’d feel right.

But it’s still not here. Now you really want to have sex. Before it was just you wanting love, but now you’ve got an urn that is burning through your skin and you need to have sex with something. You don’t care who. Then you’re ashamed. You’re horny and ashamed and alone and nearly twenty. You think it really can’t get worse….

But somehow you can’t give up hope. You can’t give up on this ideal even when the whole world is stacked against you… It’s not that you won’t. It’s that you can’t. It’s the one thing you honestly dream about. You think about every day when you make eye contact with a guy you think might be the one. You cannot escape it and now it’s all that gives you hope.

You hope this senseless feeling and wanting isn’t for nothing.

That it will eventually pay off in the end.

 

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