Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Move Me

I realize there are a lot of men in the world. And yes, I know just how big the world is. Because of its sheer size and the fact that, like snowflakes, men are all different, it’s inevitable that somewhere, among the flickering brilliance, are a good many with whom I’d have a lovely time.

But I wanted him.

So now it doesn’t really matter how many other men I see. It doesn’t matter if they’re more handsome or have more money. It doesn’t matter if they would take me to see the Lion King or if they are dying to whisk me off to Aruba. I don’t want to go.

I only wanted to go places with him.


It’s stupid, really. To sit here, pining for a man who has long since forgotten about me. A man who felt it more important to clean his stainless steel gas grill than to trace the lines on my body with his fingers. A man who found more time for his friends than he did for me. And a man who said he wanted me, said he wanted only me, but after awhile changed his mind because making me fit into his world just didn’t feel “organic” enough.

Apparently, I wanted a man who viewed me as produce. And not even the good kind. Organic is good. But to him, I wasn’t.

I know, I know, if my mother were reading this she’d yell at me. “YOU, my dear, are enough,” she’d say. “You are always enough. It just meant he didn’t want what you could give him. Doesn’t mean what you had to give wasn’t good.”

Yes, mom, I know. But it doesn’t mean that, in the throes of despair, I won’t start thinking myself horribly sub-par. That’s just how it goes. We do this. Women. We blame ourselves when men change their minds. It’s silly. We know this, but we do it anyway.

I’ve had plenty of men tell me how lovely I am. How beautiful, how elegant, how goddess-like, how intelligent, funny and sexy. According to them, I am the most amazing woman they’ve ever met and they can’t even believe I’d be interested. Yet…I am still alone. All this fabulousness and still, they don’t want me.

I asked him, “If I’m so great, why isn’t it enough?” He said because. Because. That’s it. No reason, really. Just because.

“We’re just in different places in our lives,” he said.

Funny. I thought when our bodies were merged, when I could feel the heat from his breath on my skin, it meant we were in exactly the same place. In that moment. In each other. United by something. Passion, perhaps. But in the darkness of his bedroom, with the lights of Mercer Island flickering on the water below, I thought I heard a whisper. It said, “This is something. You don’t know it yet, but it is. One day you will be moved.”

I believed that voice. I was waiting to be moved.

And I guess that’s what I’ve always been waiting for.

They say the religious folks are moved by spirit. That something just comes from above, enters into their body like a breath, and envelops them entirely. Their voice, their actions, the way they walk, is all directed by this spirit. It literally moves them. It becomes them.

I want spirit to move me.

I think it’s love I’m after. But now, as I recall those nights of silence, the heat all around me, I think I’m confused what love feels like. Was it passion or spirit that entered my body that night?

I’m not sure I’ll ever really know. I guess I just have to trust that voice. “One day you will be moved.”

3 comments:

Sandcastle Dreams said...

I know the feeling of pinning away after the wrong one... especially the one who got away and has since moved on!

I'd say it gets better... but waiting for that myself!

richard said...

This is how you feel when you are in love! all the best :)
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anderson said...

Just et yourself a new person and move on!
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