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I'm rather savvy when it comes to matters of the heart. I am typically the first person my friends go to when soliciting romantic advice. Still, like many women, jabs of the past have left me cynical, apprehensive, cautious when giving, really giving, my heart and hesitant to genuinely heed my own advice.
My home was destroyed by a tornado in April of '08. As a result, I was forced to move. In June of '08, I rented an apartment. Day one, I noticed a neighbor across the parking lot. I stood 100 yards away from one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen. A couple of days later, while sitting on my porch, he made his way over to introduce himself to me. Of course, I had been moving and cleaning and looked my worst. We engaged in small talk I literally stuttered. He was illegally good looking with aqua eyes, a toothpaste commerical smile, messy hair, and flawless tan skin. I sat on my porch frequently, hopeful of seeing him again. He too, made a special effort to stop by.
After a few visits, he stayed a while. He was calm, quiet, attentive. He is four years my junior (I am nearly 29,) but has an old soul. Conversation ultimately led to courage. I left a note on his Jeep, with my number, while asking of his evening plans. He called hours later and we wound up swimming, talking until the sun arose, while kissing. I felt outside of myself, lucky, stunned. I convinced myself this man had a revolving door of women, unmatched arrogance, and above all, no desire to know me. I was wrong. I called him my "cute neighbor," while my female (and many male) friends concurred of his "perfection."
In the course of the next several months, the intense physical attraction morphed into a real friendship. Suddenly, my "cute neighbor" was Steven. We spent endless nights talking until stupid o'clock am. He is a rather private person, so it wasn't an immediate transformation, but rather a progressive friendship. Still, it was just that, a friendship. My heart still held on, hopeful.
In January of '09, I found the courage to ask of more. We spent a great deal of time together, were intimate, and I only wanted him. He did not reciprocate but rather, offered generic excuses of "I have too much going on, you deserve more, I like things the way they are..." Over-used let downs. So, I agreed to go out with a man named Ben. Ben too, was attractive, witty, eager to make me smile, and I was honest with him from night uno. Here I am, dating two men.
In February, I cut ties with Ben. My heart resided across the street in building #12. I tried but I could no longer succumb to the charade. I reached out to Steven and extended his hand in return. We began to operate as a couple. Dinners, dates, weeklong beach vacations, meeting the family...though one thing remained unchanged, his willingness to "committ." His friends refered to me as "Steven's girlfriend." His family regarded me as his significant other. The only person unwilling to acknowledge was Steven.
Part of his charm has been his easy demeanor, his laid back persona. He is kind, considerate, motivated. Still, he remains elusive, sometimes cold, unwilling to let me in. Yesterday, I released him. I threw the fish back in the water. Though I feel big love, I feel unsatiated. He has taught me patience and I have been more than patient, but I realized loving him was at the expense of losing me. The me I know demands mutual respect, absence of fear-- or at least a real shot at trying. I deserve someone who is not only willing-- but who is wanting-- to be with me. You know the type of man who is eager to please everyone but their partner? That's Steven. He is quick to take care of everyone- his friends, family... my friends, family. He is devestated to hurt anyone...
Except me.
Perhaps he grew too comfortable? Maybe he thought I'd never leave? Maybe we are hurt by the ones who love us the most? Maybe he didn't see the disregard?
