disposable disappointments

the breath of (once fresh) stale air came to the cafe today. his beady eyes found me instantly and he pretended not to see me at first. then I had to say hello and he complimented me in that weird weighty way he does, and instead of saying thanks, which I was never good at doing, I deflected and said something about having a shower. the rest of the time he was there I busied myself with the newspaper and basically ignored him, though not to be rude, I just had nothing to say and no longer felt the need to be pretend to be interested in what he had to say.

betsy's owner is either really very insecure and unable to gather my interest like a bouquet of flowers or he is simply not interested. sound familiar? He is my new man of the year, I suppose, but I had such hopes for him. I thought he was different somehow, and yet, he has not done anything with my efforts and my interest has withered over this expanse of time.

to realize that the trader joe's guy did not even recognize me, that my face and smile had been erased from his beaches by time, well, it seemed alright, and yet, not right. His eyes still caught mine, he still had that wonder for me, that curiousity, that glimmer. Over a year ago now, he made my visits to the store a welcome treat and we even managed to have our paths cross outside that store once. that night I learned that no matter how much he stoked a giddiness in me, a sheer delight in being next to his body, his thoughts were just not...right. and now, being here, I see the error of my one sided affections with such embarassment that I am glad nothing happened.

those that I do share delightful conversations with are closed to me. they love my ways but have no room for my love. they evoke such a passion in me and I leave them wondering why the ones who love me leave me wanting and the ones I love leave me wanting and why am I always in such a state of wanting and so rarely fulfilled? I suffer from an unending loop of disappointment that leaves me numb to being happy.

I wonder if I can stop exerting myself up and down this avenue of one sided and half felt affections and truly enjoy the meal I chose instead of languishing over the menu I could have had?

for it is with the burnham that my heart lives. I am happier after he calls, gladder after his company, settled and content after his love reaches me. I just feel like it is so hard to struggle for what should come naturally, what did come naturally. It is like loving something you have to wrestle into submission and then wonder if you did the right thing in trying to contain such a beast. And I also know that there are appreciations of me that he cannot provide, a vast array of areas unknown to him that he will never be able to reach, a chasm of my Self that he cannot traverse. I love him and he loves me. He is mine and I am his. his love will always leave me wanting.