A Little Red in the Face
Sometimes when I stop to think of the boys and men I have known, I feel a flash of embarassment.
I’ve made such a fool of myself, whether in front of them or merely crying in front of my friends and family.
I’ve gotten worked up.
About each one.
I’ve had hopes and dreams.
About each one.
He tells me that relationships are 50/50.
Don’t I know it.
He tells me that he wishes someone had broken up with me.
Ah, no, he doesn’t count those unfulfilled crushes.
Those boys who said, “No.”
It’s true, though, that no long-standing, in my life, man, has said goodbye.
But the relationships with the crushes were always much further along in my mind than in reality.
That should count for something.
Why does it matter if I’ve been rejected before, during or after a relationship?
What should matter is that I know the power of, “No.”
I know the feeling of embarassment and an odd fatigue overcoming my bones when another crush turned to dust.
I know I can’t maintain a relationship on my sheer will alone.
But I also know what it’s like to be rejected, let down, disappointed, ignored.
I know.
I know.
I know.
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