A while back, I had written a story inspired by my own experience in relationships. There’s really no specific man that this is about. I love stories. I know I said this 10000 times, but I really, really do. And if you’re always dreaming of the “perfect” love story it’s impossible to not be disappointed with reality. Anyways, I think it’s important to understand this part of me to fully understand my relationships.
She was enchanting. Ideas poured out of her, stories created in instants. She embellished every part of our day for the excitement of drama. It terrified me as much as it intrigued me– how easy it was for her to play make believe. That’s the thing about writers, you never know what’s the truth and what’s a fruitful fiction. Maybe I will never know. Maybe she is a piece of all the characters she creates, a bit of all the stories she has written. I wanted to live inside her mind to know what she was thinking at any given moment. I was always on the outside dreaming to be the one she dreams of. Her thoughts were her haven and her mind was her sanctuary, and I prayed I was as sacred as the stories she imagined.
I would always be a disappointment. I daydreamed about walks through the park and lazy sundays with her on the couch. I was content with who we were. Adventure to me was a night at the casino. I could not be the man of her dreams. I was not a great love story. She doesn’t understand that love is the adventure. While her mind is taken by men too Godly to be human, I am here waiting for her to notice, ready for her love me.
