Out of Love

I've never been in love...

Oh, stop with the awing.


Haven't even taken a stroll in the same neighborhood. Love has avoided me. Or maybe I have avoided love.


I've never experienced the kind of laughter that comes along with being in love. So that means I've also never experienced the tears that also come along with being in love. Hm, seems like it should be something to marvel at, but to me it's something that taunts me.


No, really. Don't pity me. (I'm only nineteen.)


You see, I used to go around asking people, "Do you think it's better to have loved and lost or to have never loved at all." While I got mixed responses, my response was never the latter. I used to think that having loved someone was ten times worse than to have never loved someone at all because at least when you've never loved you can't miss it because you have no (real) idea what it (truly) feels like.  When I see people crying over their long, lost loves makes me want to say, "Well, at least I've never had to go through that." But now as I think about it, I'm swaying.


I can't figure out if never having to be stressed out by a relationship and never having my heart broken makes up for never having someone's love, affection and heart. Never having felt like someone needed me—needed to see me, needed to hold me or needed to touch me. See, the people who have been able to love, even for a brief moment, will always have something that I don't: the memory—if nothing else.


I've never felt lonely or separated because I have never experienced love. Only distant and unable to relate. I don't know what it's like to be able to say things, wear things, not wear things—be myself without fearing that the person will judge me. Don't know what it's like to not be embarrassed to be silly, be vulnerable, be me. (Okay, maybe a little awing is necessary.) I don't really know what love is—but I do believe in it. I'll wait (a lifetime if I have to) for love.


Love is the one thing I am patient with.

ASB,

xoxxo

In the Case of A Married Man

When I find out a man is married it’s over…


Whether it’s a wedding band, or if the admission comes straight from the horse’s mouth, something inside of me changes. I’m no longer attracted to him even though he may still be super attractive, you know what I mean?


I have to admit. When I see or hear that a man is married, it adds to his sex appeal. A lot (actually). But that doesn’t make me want to have sex with him even if I was fantasizing about it (as he spoke) before I found it out. It’s called respect, ladies. If you’re not familiar with the term let me know. I’ll hook you up with my girl Aretha Franklin.


Sometimes I hear girls say that they go after a man even harder once they find out that he is married. I get it; Y’all think it shows that he can commit, right? Wrong. One, if he does something with you, whether it’s kiss, rub, hug you for too long with his hands too low, or all the way sex while he’s still with her, he’ll do it with you (that’s assuming that you ever actually get him) too. And we all know the odds of a married man leaving his wife.


Seeing a man who is committed to one person and one person only can’t always be a catalyst for a pair of sopping wet panties. All commitment isn’t created equal. You can’t (I’m very guilty of this!) assume that just because he’s committed and married that he’s happily married. He could dread going home to his wife every night. He could be on the brink of blurting to his wife, “I want a divorce,” every time he lays eyes on her.


So, like I said earlier, when I find out a man is married my initial reaction is a drooping, “oh.” But then I think about it and realize that until he stops wearing his ring and is legally single again he is completely off limits. But if there ever comes a time that the rings slips off (for good)…who knows…

ASB,

xoxxo