Just Felt Like Writing

I don't know why I just felt like writing something.  It's a Wednesday night, I didn't go to yoga, and I'm listening to Ray Lamontagne's "Lesson Learned."  So I guess something's stirring inside that needs to be thrown down here.  I think it's been brewing for a while, just never knew how to put it into words.  Maybe I still don't.  But trying never hurt anyone. . .

I can't seem to understand this whole missing someone thing.  The best way to get over someone is to be distracted, meet new people, develop new connections, pick up a new hobby, get involved with life.  I've been trying and been somewhat successful.  But then that empty feeling seems to come along anyway, almost like hunger before each meal.  Except with this, I'm really not sure how to feed it. 

I have met new people.  Some good, and some not so good.  When it comes to the not so good, it doesn't help the missing part.  It just seems to make it worse, like vinegar on a wound.  But even when I've met someone who has all the qualities that I want, it turns out they're just the qualities that were in the first person to begin with.  It's like falling in love with the original painting, but finding out that only a print of it can be owned, never the original.  (As a somewhat related tangent, tonight I fell in love with a picture by Salvador Dali called "Figure at Window".  It's perfect in every way.  Simple, fresh, deep, beautiful.  It's not like his other paintings, and that's one of the reasons I love it so much.  It's not something you would expect from Dali.  But I can't find a single website that sells a print of it in the size I need.  I could buy a larger size and have it cropped, but then the border would be all wrong and it would look all tacky and blah blah blah.  See what I mean?  Not the same as when you find that perfect fit.)

No one is pefect, I know this.  Even finding someone who is "perfect" for you is really a lie.  We're going to have those uneven edges in ourselves that have to be worked with if you want the relationship to work.  Compromise is a must, and it's a balance to know how much to give and how much to ask to take away.  It's never easy, but there are those it's easier to do it with.  That's what makes it perfect.  It isn't the person in and of themselves necessarily, it's how you and that person work together to try to make it all fit. 

And yet, when you find that person where everything just clicks, where you feel like there's still more to know about them, but that you "get" them and they "get" you regardless of the specifics, known or unknown, how can you help but feel that there was something perfect about this person?  They're not without imperfection, but the imperfections make them who they are and that's what's perfect.  You feel like you don't have to be anything but yourself when you're around them.  And it's scary.  It's scary to know that there could possibly be someone who is really like that.  They may not be the only one, but shit!  If they are at least one of the ones, then what's to lose?  Everything.  You lose the fantasy of what life would be like being with them, and you have to actually be with them.  You lose that sense of security that seems inherent in the search itself.  The search: it's like seeking the Grail.  You spend so much time looking for it, there may be a sense of loss once you find it.  So you tell yourself this couldn't possibly be it, and so you can go out looking again.  And there's loss in that, too.  How can you go back if you've already told yourself that wasn't it?

Let it be known, I was the one who left, but not to be the seeker.  It was because I realized I was no longer sought after.  I had no desire to lie to myself and think that the one I sought had found me when it was obvious they hadn't. . .or at least that they had forgotten.  I left with every intention of eventually moving on and seeking that imperfect perfection again, this time in someone else.  But now I know the truth of it, and I am caught between two lies.  Which one is worse?

I don't know how long I'll have this post up.  It might even be deleted by the morning.  It's not like anyone really reads this thing anyway.  I might as well be talking to walls.  But when you have roommates in a house where sound travels easily, it seems that writing it all down is the better way to go.