The Sun, The Stars, and The Moon

I could spend hours daydreaming about this perfect guy, and planning our perfect first date. He would be ridiculously handsome and my intellectual equal. We would have our different tastes, but music would always be our common denominator. He would adore me, but he would be the perfect Byronic hero.

I even made this list freshman year of high school, to use as a guide. Or maybe I planned to post an advertisement in the newspaper.

-Must be at least 6’1”

-Plans of attending grad school

-Must be born between the years 1991-1995

-Is adventurous

-Speaks at least three language

-Loves animals

-Plays music

-Must be ambitious

-Scruff is preferred not required

-Has green eyes and dark hair

-Must be able to cook

(not necessarily in that order)

You will not be surprised to hear that I never found this guy. College made me give up on the idea of true romance, so I turned to drunken make-out sessions for a ‘fix’.

This practice didn’t sustain me as you can imagine, and I craved attention more than anything. I was already 18 and I NEEDED a boyfriend.

Like any rational person I turned to Tinder.  Best three days of my life. Twenty guys were telling me that I was the most beautiful girl they had ever seen. I loved it, and it was unreal, literally.

My realest experience with feelings was entertaining a harmless flirtation, or so I thought. It went on too long, and the worst happened. I not only hurt the other person, but hurt my view of what a relationship was. He is very clingy, is shorter than me, cannot do anything artistic or musical and hasn’t a clue about politics or really anything that I find interesting. This person was so wrong for me, and I fully knew that, but all I thought about was myself and my thirst for importance. I toyed with his feelings, and it was so hard to apologize and explain my words the next morning (You can only blame so much on your drunken alter ego).

Now, every time I meet someone new, or watch a movie or read a book with someone attractive, one of their qualities reminds me of Mr. Mistake, and I feel repulsed. I am reminded of my actions and I can’t seem to shake the distaste.

I need to constantly remind myself that I am not in a Nicholas Sparks movie; that I am an independent person; that my achievements define me, not my ‘conquests’.

I know now that love is in all the pockets of my life, and I was wrong to think I didn’t have it in my life. My friends and family are in my heart. They are the ones who help me through mistakes like this and make me a better person. Maybe one day I can make room for someone incredibly special. But until then, I have an inordinate amount of growing up to do. My feet are planted firmly on earth, and I’m still figuring out how to pull my head out of the skies.

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