A truly wonderful, but nevertheless caricature of...

I only post here when I really need to get something sorted out in my head and other options, like actually talking about it, seem to fall horribly short of comforting and take a pretty long detour around resolution. I also think this may be the last post, as it truly defines the title of this blog and kind of marks the end of a full circle...it really seems as though it may have been quite a caricature this time...

That being said, I appreciate outside opinions; any perspective that can be weeded out of other's experiences is a product built of heartstrings and fragmented pieces which, when shared, might just help to make a little sense of everything. Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that no one in my life has really encountered what it is that I'm trying to process. The result is me incessantly babbling and being met with endless skepticism.

Here's the thing about skepticism: I am an almost equal balance of jaded cynic and hopeless romantic; consequently, if I am ever lucky enough to meet someone amazing in this hell hole, chances are I'll want to believe that they're amazing, but the devil on my other shoulder won't let me. So far, that's worked out well, because guess what?! SURPRISE!!! They actually weren't amazing and that pesky horned little fucker was right. Lucky me.

Enter: man of my dreams. Very likely everything I've ever wanted in someone. Not perfection, but perhaps perfect for standing by my side and plotting world domination with me. Now what? Both the little angel of romance and Mr. Cynic with a Pitchfork are standing on opposing shoulders, not quite sure what to say. So I told them both to fuck off and went my own way; I was instantly zen, just having someone awesome to talk to who seemed to have an infinite supply of wit and brilliance, and yet was open and accepting of my bizarre notions about life. He's attractive, artistic, thoughtful, well-read, crazy, spontaneous, and threw the dead baby jokes at me before I even had a chance to line up my best ones. The hopeless romantic was sitting wide-eyed in the corner, having been thrown from my shoulder thinking "Holy shit, where has THIS guy been?" The jaded devil peered through slits for eyes, trying to convey his weariness as things are never what they seem.

As we can see, the perfect balance of two opposing sides is pretty far from perfect; being the hopeless romantic lets one continue thinking that they just may find that person who fits with them like a puzzle piece, but the jaded cynic will look for any reason to flee or believe that it's not as it appears. In this case, I didn't need skepticism from the outside. For once in my life, I needed someone to quell MY cynicism, because unfortunately, skepticism is not going to prohibit me from getting hurt, but it WILL prevent me from being fully happy, even if only in the moment. All I wanted was to believe I had met someone amazing and relish in that until something changed my mind or until I got a chance to know him better. So that's what I did. I basked in every second of intelligent conversation, being free to be me and free to get to know someone who was actually worth knowing. I quelled all expectations the best I could, but never extinguished the little flickers of hope that it may eventually be something more; given that this 'meeting' occurred while residing in two different countries, there was no danger of me feeling stifled and I actually formed some sort of connection with someone without the normal tendency to flee elicited by the fear of being smothered. I actually wanted this person around. And I'll admit it, I was facetiously planning the graveyard wedding in my head. I expected those around me to see that this was a mere girlish assertion of the fact that I was thoroughly impressed by someone; not that it was a memo to go buy a bridesmaid's dress. But no, I don't get to be impressed. I don't get to hope, because I'm the jaded cynic, the independent female who intimidates everyone, the "I need my space, stop smothering me," no-relationship girl.

Well, let's fast forward to today. I was right: I met someone amazing. I was also right to not have expectations because expectations almost inevitably lead to disappointment; yet lastly, I'm human, and I was right again: being cautious did NOT prohibit me from getting hurt. Because after six weeks of assertions that this person thought I was amazing as well, I let myself get a little excited. I let myself think that there was someone with whom I could be in the room for more than five minutes without looking about for sharp objects to impale them or myself. And being right about all of those things didn't prevent me from being wrong about the most damaging one: that the feeling was reciprocated.

I do recognize that my assumption of being wrong is an assertion based on sheer emotion, completely outside of the logic that i know exists somewhere in the situation as plenty of extenuating circumstances must be afforded to the party who doesn't get a chance to speak here; I honestly don't have a clue what to believe, perhaps it is just a matter of time and I over-analyze. That doesn't change the fact of how it feels. In my head, it all inevitably equates to one thing. I can sit here, re-reading messages, reiterating the things that made my heart skip and my breath catch, and I can make excuses for lack of contact, and I can be understanding, and I can look at things from a logical perspective...and really, all that adds up to in my mind is "He's just not that into you," or a million other cliches that tell me I didn't balance it quite right, and that the hopeless romantic angel was riding the giddy monster in that last lap, speeding toward the finish line, while the jaded cynic had to stop at the Gatorade stand. Unfortunately, the giddy monster suffered cardiac arrest, the angel landed in the dirt, and who came bounding over the finish line, dixie cup in hand? You guessed it. The devil wins.

I'm not looking to be passive-aggressive; there's thankfully only about a 1% chance that said person will see this, much less make it to the last paragraph before deciding I'm bat-shit crazy and cutting off the iota of contact we had left. If I couldn't say it out loud, perhaps I shouldn't say it, but I'm honest to a fault and it is what it is. Again, this is just how I process things as saying it out loud IS pretty crazy. I may have been a bit silly to have thought a connection, one of any sort, could really be created from 6000 miles away, and maybe even a bit sillier to believe it could seamlessly transition into real life like I saw it in my head.

Unfortunately, all I can do is speculate, because asking directly will most assuredly come off as some bizarre sense of entitlement, expectation, or just level 5 stalker for admitting that I felt something that likely seems too intense for the context thus far. I barely know this person and I sound like I'm drafting the epitaph for my heart; but when you're a hopeless cynic and a jaded romantic, sometimes it IS like that when you find yourself fooled. I didn't need serious; I didn't need overdone; I just needed to continue interacting with this person on the level I had been, perhaps in a face-to-face fashion, or to hear some assertion that although life sometimes gets in the way, I wasn't being tossed aside. Well, look at that...of all the things I wanted to believe existed, I only ended up with the "Too good to be true" demon who hides under your bed and steals your dreams. If nothing else, there were six weeks of amazing conversation that made me smile more, and sleep more peacefully, than I have in years. I suppose if there's a silver lining, that means there are clouds present, and for that, I'll always be happy.