Usually, I prefer not to compare myself to others. We are all different, uniquely sculpted by an omnipotent creator. However, today was different and I was drawn into a woman who was unfamiliar to me. Around my age or maybe a little older, she was so coy and confident. She sat comfortably with her legs crossed in her own nook on the other side of the library, deeply immersed in a Fitzgerald novel. Her left hand firmly planted under the book, it gleamed with the light of what appeared to be an engagement ring. Hair hung slightly past her shoulders, no visible tattoos, and eyes that weakened the light of the sun. I’ve seen her before, chatting with girlfriends or participating in activities that benefit the community. In every setting, even now in her solitude, she seemed so comfortable and sure of her own beauty, humbly exuding her own excellence and education. Candidly she smirked at maybe a happening in her book, not once noticing me taking mental notes from a distance.

I wouldn’t call it jealously but perhaps it could be distinguished as such. And it made me wonder if I could ever be that beautiful in a beholder’s eyes. Naturally, I wondered who she was underneath the surface. If I were to dig deeper, would she still be as charming as she is to a complete stranger like me? Mentally, I began to paint this picture of her life and it was so magnificent, more than I’d ever imagined for myself. She wasn’t damaged by past trauma or tainted by unfortunate events, and because of that innocence, I could never be her. A past can’t be re-written. After the make-believe storyline of what I assumed to be her reality,

I then began to drift back into my own world.

Even though I am well aware of my own beautiful attributes, one that plays against me quite often is my free spirit. I am likely to drop everything and move across the world at any given moment, I fear that no one will ever be able to love me completely for who I am, at least not in the way I think I deserve to be loved. This is not insecurity as much as it is an observation. Girls like me don’t settle because we live in a society where settling into the safety net of marriage and family life is the natural order of things. Not saying I don’t want those things too because I do… and maybe I will settle in the event that I’m not who I am right now.

As much as I would like to be- I’m not a reliable habitat for men. Trusting me your with hopes, dreams and secrets of a past life is much like throwing precious stones into an ocean and believing that they will, ultimately, end up in a safe place. I keep those things with me, out of loyalty, but they can easily be found in webs of stories and poems I write that will one day be published for, if not the world, large audiences to see. If I’m honest enough, I’ll say that I’m not always attentive to the wants and needs of others and always in selfish pursuit of my own. Focused on dreams and unwilling to compromise. I’m not convinced that it’s because I’m young but that it’s just the way I’m wired.

I’ve spent years learning how to love who I am, even the not-so-pretty parts, and spent extra time with God to fill voids and calm demons. But when the last guy chastised me for not exactly being the woman he’d want to marry, a phrase many have whispered before, a piece of that self-confidence died. It wasn’t to hurt me, I’m sure, but it doesn’t stop me from hurting. And as a defense to preserve the love I have left, I rarely allow people to get close enough to pull on my heart strings the way they did.

Once upon a time, I experienced a deep love. With him, I never felt pressured to walk on egg shells, pretending to be someone else. Eventually, he grew tired of my constant resistance to allow love to happen, as well as my movement. I’ve even tried to contact him to relive the energy that, that memory held, to regain a sense of what it’s like to be loved completely. But that’s not how life works. How many times do we experience that kind of love in a lifetime? If the answer is once or twice, I’ve felt that love by a human, three times, including my dad. One died years ago, one has forgotten and moved on and has every right to be perfectly happy without me. Where does that leave me? Will my soul forever wander, neglecting my body’s desire to be held at night? Will I ever sit still long enough to stare in the eyes of a lover who stares back at me with mutual love and respect? Or will I one day be so blessed to find a soul I can travel with, literally and spiritually, through everything the universe has to offer?

(Plane boarding call in the overhead loud speaker.)

Chymere
pitched entry