Are you the type of girl who falls in love?

Sighing is a very versatile expression.  It can convey so much when it isn’t even a word really, but an exhalation of air.  You sigh when you’re frustrated or when you’re lonely.  You do it when you’re wistfully daydreaming of a cute boy or girl that looked at you and shot a smile.  You sigh when you’re nervous because you don’t know what’s coming next.  I’ve sighed a lot in my life, for all of these reasons and more.  Right now I’m sighing because everything seems so hopeless.  I’m sighing because I think I’ve already fucked up my last chance and now I’m just going through the motions.  I’m sighing because I know this isn’t going to work.

Maybe I’m just crazy though.  Does a sane person call the newspaper to find out if he can post a rambling personal ad in the letter’s to the editor section?  A sane person definitely doesn’t offer hundreds of dollars when told no.

“I’m sorry, that’s not what we are.  We write the news.  We print letters to the editor about news stories that have been written.  We can’t post a personal ad looking for someone.  But if you’d like to have it posted in our personal ad section I can take your information.”

He didn’t get it.  They never do, other people.  I’m not asking to print a personal ad.  I’m asking to print a plea to anyone out there in the world that still has the capacity to fall in love.

This isn’t the Pina Colada song.  I’m not looking to meet someone at a quaint coffee shop wearing a lily in my breast pocket.  I’m asking a question that people have passed by.  Maybe we’ve all forgotten and that’s why it hasn’t dawned on us to even ask it.  Or maybe everyone in the world already has someone and I’m the odd one out.  Either way, last ditch efforts are always against the odds.  They also are littered with sighs.

“Well then let me propose something,” when you have nothing to lose you don’t care how foolish you sound.

“Consider it a freelance writing piece.  Publish it anywhere in the paper.  I’m sure there isn’t anything pressing in the Opinion area that can’t be put off to another week.  We’ve all really had enough random right-wing propaganda letters and notes from offended souls at how awful the world seems to be nowadays.  Print what I write.  Call it a plea to humanity in care of love itself.  Do whatever you want with it, just don’t put it in the Personals section.”

He was wavering, but it wasn’t a no anymore.

“I don’t really have the authorization to say what is going into the paper.  I’m sorry.  This is beyond my abilities.”

I was holding back another sigh, “can you get me someone who does have authorization and has it within their abilities?”

“There’s nobody available at the moment.  Why don’t you send it in, care of the editor.  Email it, I get everything.  I’ll make sure he hears about it.”

I thank him and hung up.  Every last ditch effort needed a glimmer of hope also.  They aren’t snuffed out so easily with a no, sorry.  If you’re giving up every time someone tells you no then you aren’t trying hard enough.  You don’t have your back against the wall being pushed until there’s no more room and you’re going to be flattened into nothing.  I might as well be nothing if I can’t love someone.

I had another couple of hours before I had to make sure it was there.  I figured I’d better read it over again.  Any typing mistakes or clunky sentences was going to make sure it was discarded.  Last ditch efforts need to be perfect.

The funny thing about love is that its no different then a drug.  We never can seem to get out of the drug crises; Cocaine, meth, opiods.  We’ve never really dealt with the epidemic that is falling in love.  Probably the single most reason for anxiety and the need for therapy is love.  Books, television shows and movies all are written for love.  Dedications made out of love.  There’s a reason it’s referred to as love sick.

I’ve always thought it was one of the greatest tragedies to fall in love.  I’m sure of it now.  You told me I was cynical.  I asked you if I was wrong.

“If love is so grand and pure then why does it cause so many people so much pain?”

We were sitting on the waterfront looking across the harbor towards the lights in Dartmouth.  The refinery always seemed to glow like Christmas year round and if you didn’t know what was going on there you’d think it was actually kind of pretty.  It was late and you wanted ice cream.  I refrained but happily stood in the line to keep you company.  Chocolate, you always got chocolate.

“All the best things in life cause pain.  You endure because of possibility.”

You always were my favorite sparring partner, with an answer for everything.  You were a modern day philosopher.  I had casually mentioned at another time that you should write a book or articles with your insight into today’s society.  I was always laughed away and brushed off with a hand wave.  The praise was sincere, you were brilliant.

“But why do we seek things that hurt us?  Shouldn’t we strive for happiness and bliss without the possibility of anguish?  Love is a trick and we’re all masochists.”

You laughed at how serious I was getting.  I always thought this was a tactic of yours to throw me off guard.  It usually worked.  The deeper into an argument I got the more passionate my words became.  I’d get entrenched in my argument and refuse to consider another side.  This positioning was highlighted by how animated my hands became.  I was too far gone when my arms would go flailing along with my words.

You took a scoop of ice cream and slipped it between your thin lips and smiled slyly.  I was looking out at McNabs Island when I felt you staring at me.  I turned my head and noticed you with the spoon in your mouth, being pulled slowly out.  You were formulating a response and were trying to disarm me again.  You were unsure of how it would hit so you stared right at me in hopes of making me nervous.  I knew your tricks as well as you knew mine.

“Nothing worth having was ever had by being safe.”

She grinned even wider and her eyes lit up, “as the great Dread Pirate Roberts via Westley said love is pain, anyone who says otherwise is obviously selling something.”

“Foul!” I protested.

“Foul?  On what?!”  Her tone was indignant.

“On The Princess Bride against me in such a way.  Foul.  Boo!  Boo!  Like the old hag screams at Princess Buttercup.”

Laughing again she nodded her head, “foul sustained.  I withdraw the quote from record, your honor.”

I nodded back and waved my hand back towards her, allowing her to reform her retort.

There wasn’t one.  She was going to rest on her laurels.  We were agreeing to disagree and both got lost in the moonlight on the water as it traveled out to sea.

She kept her head faced out at the water, her ice cream cup held forgetful in her hand.

“Why are you so cynical?”  Her tone had no playfulness in it.  She asked the question as if she were a journalist studying a tribe of people held away from the world she knew.  Their practices were so foreign to her that she couldn’t comprehend them and could only ask questions to try and gain some insight as to why they do what they do.

“I’m a product of the world today I guess,” I didn’t have a real answer.  I didn’t know why I was the way I was.  It came naturally was the only thing I could say but to say your nature is one of cynicism makes you question yourself.  Human beings aren’t used to admitting themselves as wrong.  We make excuses for ourselves because being wrong is too hard to come to grips with.  Our mental state is so fucking fragile its hilarious.

She shook her head, “I’m a product of the same world and I can’t understand how you are able to think half of the things you think.”

“How am I wrong though?  We shoot up schools because we’re bullied, then ignore it after a few weeks like it didn’t happen.  We tell people they aren’t good enough to live here but turn a blind eye when they do the work we don’t want to.  We ignore entire swaths of the biggest cities because we say those people deserve what they get.  We tell an entire half of the world what they are and aren’t allowed to do with their body.  We are a society of horrors that doesn’t allow for much sunshine.”

Fuck.  I unloaded and shouldn’t have.  The truth was that I was cynical because its too hard to be like her.  The world is a difficult place and to have a demeanor like hers in today’s world is courageous.  If you can smile through the adversity and hate that seems to fill the streets every day then you’re stronger than I am.  She’s stronger than I can ever be and its why I admire her.

I loved having these debates with her because I wanted her to make me better.  There wasn’t another person on the planet that could save me like she could and whenever she got close I pulled back or jerked the wheel into the ditch.  I was scared because it felt so vulnerable and I wasn’t used to allowing myself to be loved.

“I’m sorry the world’s been so unkind to you.”

She put her hand on my knee and gave it a light squeeze.  If I had known this was her own last ditch effort I would have tried harder.  I would have put my hand on top of hers.  I would have kissed her.  I would have done anything except what I did.

“Tell me that again when the world punches you in the gut and then you’ll know what it feels like.  I don’t want you to be sorry for me.  I just don’t want you to get hurt too.”

It was sweet, in way.  I was trying to tell her in my own fucked up and clumsy way that I cared about her and she was too carefree.  She was trying to tell me that it doesn’t have to be that bad.  We were speaking different languages and had no translator.

She patted my knee and then used it to push herself up.  I followed suit and we walked back to our cars.  We wished each other goodnight and drove in our opposite directions.  She was my best friend and she was trying to save me from myself.  I never listened and she got tired of trying.  We faded away and I let her because being cynical means the world is out to get you.

I hated her for a while.  How could she leave me?  We were so close.  I can’t believe I meant so little to her.  It wasn’t until years and maturity let me look back at that time with her and cringe with embarrassment.  Who knows what we could have been.  All I had to do was leave myself open just a little to let her in.  I needed to be someone who allowed themselves to love someone else rather than being difficult to love.

She’s gone now.  Happy I presume.  The strongest will I’ve ever had was the will to look her up.  Or it might be my last bit of stubbornness not wanting to see how incredibly happy she is without me.  At least this way I can feel sorry for myself without being depressed too.  I can imagine her in any fantasy I want rather than know her in her perfect reality.  She would have reached perfection too, she was that good.

So I decided to write a letter to nobody or anybody.  I wrote it and I wanted it published to see if there were any other sad souls out there who caused themselves to miss out on happiness and love.  I looked it over again and it all seemed well enough.  Hoping for salvation from misery I attached it to the email and sent it in.  I didn’t want to be alone anymore.  The world tried to give me something that would make me happy and I kicked it away and pouted for so many years.  I’m done pouting and hoping the world will give me one more shot.

********

     Thank you, dear editor, for considering my submission.  I hope you can print this in your next edition.  I feel the Opinions page would be a perfect place.  I’m available for any comments or concerns, contact me whenever.

 

Do we fall in love anymore?  Is it even possible?  We look for partners to have sex with and friends to spend time with, but I’m not sure we look for love or allow it to find us.  We spend so much time worrying about every aspect of our lives that when love confronts us we don’t know how to react.  We push it away.  We resent it.  We don’t have time for it.  We did this for so long that we may not even know what love looks like anymore.

This applies to anyone, any gender, any identification but as a straight male I’m inquiring about any women out there and if they have allowed themselves to be loved and more.  It’s not easy to allow yourself to be loved.  You have to stop being yourself for long enough to realize someone else wants to share every part of you with themselves.  I’m asking any girl reading this, any woman right now with their eyes sliding along the black letters against grey paper; are you the type of girl who falls in love?

The type of girl who falls in love is the type of girl who smiles when she sees something beautiful.  Every time.  She can’t see enough beauty and basks in it.  She finds it in the smallest details.  She is open to love at all times and welcomes it with open arms.

A girl who falls in love doesn’t close herself off.  She doesn’t turn away or roll her eyes at PDA.  She isn’t cynical and angry with the world.  She doesn’t answer questions or heartfelt statement with her own pain and push away people who are trying to love her.  She’s pure and sweet.  She lives life for every drop whether its in the rain or under the sun.

She doesn’t have to be a bubbly and happy person.  A girl who falls in love can be quiet and reserved.  She doesn’t need to be an extroverted, pixie dream girl that floats across the sky giving a man something to rescue.  She can have her own personality and person, whatever that may be.  She just needs to be willing to fall in love when its staring her in the face.

If you are this girl then you are beauty.  You are open to being hurt and hurting others and in this possibility you’re risking happiness against pain.  It won’t always be good but when it is it will be worth it.  Don’t ever forget that.

If you aren’t the type of girl who falls in love then please ask yourself why.  We don’t like to look into our own being often but this is one time that it’s important.  Biologically speaking we are created to procreate and consume, but that shouldn’t be all that we are in this life.  We need to be more.  You need to be more.  Convince yourself to try because you will regret it some day.  Long from now you’ll wonder why you didn’t allow yourself to fall in love.  Now is the time to break down what’s causing you to resist and reject it.

Fall in love.  Pursue love.  Get hurt by love.  Soar with love.  You don’t think you need it until you think that you may never find it again.  You’ve never felt fear as intense as the fear of realizing you rejected the one person who loved you.  This kind of fear doesn’t make you scream or run and hide.  This kind of fear cripples your soul.  It destroys your spirit.  You’re left a ghost in its wake and you haunt your memories of things that might have been.

Love won’t always be there.  Love isn’t eternally patient.  Answer it.  Be the type of girl who falls in love, not the type who asks for a second chance.

 

Thank You,

DPR, as you wish