Sometimes I wish I could stop comparing every girl I meet to Sara.
Nobody is ever good enough in comparison. Not even in the same ballpark.
I’ve read journals about people getting over their spouses deaths and it’s all a mixed bag of emotions. Sometimes people get over these tragedies in months, sometimes never. And I don’t want to compare myself to a grieving widow or anything of the ilk. In a way, my grieving process ended over a year ago. Sara and I were friends, and while we had been in love, it was never anything that resembled a romance I’ve ever seen in a movie or read in a book.
Not to use this space to boast or inflate my ego, but girls like me. There’s always women that think they will be the one to “reel me in” and change me. A friend recently asked me why I date around so often, and why I have no interest in settling down. I gave this friend my standard list of reasons that I give everyone, and we left it at that. I don’t aim to deceive these women. The one’s that don’t see what’s right in front of them just have their blinders on.
Then I started to think, what if it’s because of the relationships I previously had? Can it be, that while I have seemingly gotten over her death, I have not been able to let go of her as model for perfection in a woman?
And is this a bad thing in it of itself? I have so many friends that are in unhappy relationships. They can’t escape them for one reason or another. Others are in unhealthy relationships and refuse to acknowledge the writing on the wall.
Another friend asked me a few days ago, whether she was wrong in wanting to get out of her long-term relationship with her boyfriend. She was worried that she was looking for the mythical perfect man, where as she could stay with a tangible, safe but flawed version instead. I felt like I was the only person that would advise this, but I told her to run and find Mr. Perfect.
People say that such people don’t exist, and they probably don’t. The observable universe contains only imperfection. But that doesn’t mean that we should not strive for the closest thing to it, which is just what I shall continue to do.
But who knows. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe all that awaits me is stubborn solitude.