Sometimes, I wish I had someone with whom I can share the little moments in life--moments where I would look over, and he would look back, and a silent understanding would pass between us.
I have never found that person. At 15, I didn't really think much of it. At close to 20--I won't lie--I'm growing anxious.
I am about to enter my third decade of life. Third decade. How bizarre is that to even comprehend? My parents met right around this time in their lives. Yet, where am I?
It's not as if I constantly think about love, finding love, or falling in love; I put it out of my mind and it stays at bay, for the most part. As of late, however, life seems to want to remind me every chance it gets. Couples, everywhere I go. When I step out of my apartment, more often than not, I will see a loved up pair stroll hand-in-hand past me. My iTunes seems to only play sappy love songs, even on shuffle. Even random ads on Facebook broadcast love matching sites. Hanging out with people with significant others doesn't seem to help much, either. Story lines on my favorite television shows seem to mirror reality.
What might be worse than not finding that someone is coming close to it. To have found someone with whom you wouldn't mind doing nothing, with whom you wouldn't mind doing everything, whose company you enjoy, who makes you laugh, who takes you by surprise, who...complements you is so bittersweet when you realize those very feelings you feel for him are not reciprocated. Or, rather, that they are, but not to the extent with which you feel for him. How ironic is it that when we first met, I would not give him the time of day? That I wrote him off immediately? And here we are, full circle.
I think it unfortunate that I feel things so intensely, whether it be fleeting moments of happiness or long bouts of weariness.
Yet, I should be grateful, because I don't feel anything, and haven't felt anything for a long while, and, frankly, that is much worse.
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