I've been thinking a lot about love lately. I kind of miss being in love. I miss sleeping next to someone and turning over in the middle of the night just to be reassured that they are still there, using their chest for a pillow, putting my cheek right in that space where their arm becomes their shoulder. I miss the way love smells. How, when you walk down the street and you smell someone who smells like the person you love, your heart skips a beat and for just a minute you come up with a thousand different scenarios about how maybe they came to surprise you, or maybe you just ended up on the same street by fate. The high is so chemically pervasive that, even when you realize it's not the person you love, you can't be disappointed because now they're in your head, wandering around, changing things, becoming comfortable, insinuating themselves into your every mood and action and thought.
I miss having someone to talk to who always thinks I'm right, or at least will pretend. I miss someone telling me I'm beautiful and special and laughing at my jokes and pouring me a beer and letting me fall asleep against them while we watch TV. I miss having my stomach do a somersault when I see the person I love, or even think I see them, or really, even think about them at all. Just one small wisp of a thought can make your blood pump a little faster and your knees hot and your head light. I miss thinking I might be surprised. I miss wondering if today will be the day.
I think often, and hard, about whether I will ever trust again. I wonder when there will be a time that I will meet a man where, after he says, "Hi, I'm John or Joe or Dan" I won't think, to myself, "Married or girlfriend? Liar or cheater?" Will there be a time where there will be a man who will actually call? Will there be a man who can admit he's actually not going to call? Will a man tell me he loves again? Will I believe him? Can I believe him?
I imagine getting married again. Church or Vegas? Minister or Elvis? White dress? Will people laugh? Will anyone believe it or will I be the Little Girl Who Cried Love?
I imagine having a baby. Will there be a time when I will mentally compose a snapshot of me, and a baby, and a house, and a white picket fence, and next to me there will be a father, husband, partner, friend who will be in that picture to stay? Is a baby a "when" or an "if"?
I wonder what men think when they meet me? I wonder why I'm everyone's "pal" and "buddy" and "friend" and why I'm not someone who is just one person's "princess" and "lover" and "companion." Am I not sexy enough? Too fat? Too tall? Too loud? Too everything and not enough nothing?
These are all things I think about lately.