Early last week, I had a few down days. Things were rough at work, and also I am still dealing with some messy and painful feelings with regards to Napoleon. He never responded to my gushy declarations I made after visiting the Frida Kahlo exhibit — I think I came on way too strong. I think I made something of a fool out of myself. All I got was silence, and sometimes a person’s silence has the power to speak louder than words ever could. Unrequited love… it’s a bitch! I confided in my friend J, and she made me promise that I would stop embarrassing myself.
I don’t need to tell you that real love is not something that a person needs to beg for, it is given freely, openly, and happily. Sometimes my emotions make me forget that. What is the prize in winning a man who doesn’t actually want me?
“You have got to watch the PBS (BBC) version of Pride and Prejudice,” J said, “that is real romance.” J explained that Elizabeth Bennet never begged, she maintained her dignity and wound up with the delicious Mr Darcy without ever abandoning her composure. Perhaps that was a good part of her charm for him.
At first, he seemed to find Elizabeth merely “tolerable,” but he became dazzled her her bookish ways, her wit, and her pretty eyes.
Men really are better in books it seems, so much more romantic (not to mention handsome LOL), but I am not looking for perfection. Do you know what I want? My perfect happy ending? It’s not actually a gorgeous man with tons of money. I will tell you what I want, because I have pictured it in my head so many times. In my imagination I can see myself and the man I love. I don’t know what he looks like, that part really isn’t that important. We are sitting on the couch and watching TV. We are not cuddled up together or even touching for that matter. He is seated on one end, and I am on the other. I look over at him, and he is smiling. I feel loved, and in my head, I am thinking, “Yeah, he’s got my back.” I’ve learned it’s not the poetry, the expensive chocolates, or the sweet words that really mean anything. The real fairy tale starts when all that stuff is over and you are left with someone that you know is going to walk through the sh*t with you, never letting go of your hand. That man is my Mr Darcy, and I can’t wait to meet him.