For the first time in over eight years– I am single. I went from being a teenager to my late twenties all the while attached to another person. I spent seven years with a girl who was innocent, kind, and gentle, and understanding, a girl hopelessly devoted and unconditionally loving. It was the perfect relationship, and I squandered it away looking for more. My next relationship, which began before the other one was even finished like overlapping waves in the ocean, was with a girl who was worldly and passionate, a girl who had tried several slices of life, and had the knowledge and wisdom to share what she knew with me. She loved me to the best of her abilities… and in my own way, I ruined it.
I’ve come to realize I have the emotional maturity of a teenager. I am flawed, in many many ways. And for the first time– I am alone. I am this desolate structure, that remains standing after a self-induced disaster, the ashy burnt out hull and charred remains of personal tragedy. But now, there is nothing left to do but rebuild. I have seen my mistakes, and I understand the error of my ways. Hammers, nails, glue. Restore the veneer anew.
I know there is a girl somewhere who is perfect for me. I know you’re out there.
I’m not ready for you yet. There is much work to be done.