"-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-trans.dtd"> A Life Less Ordinary
A Life Less Ordinary A Life Less Ordinary
October 26, 2005
I was having a conversation earlier this evening with a friend, Jessica. We began to question the validity of a phrase we had heard severals times before. After enduring breakups that seemed to be for the best, Jessica and I have began to wonder if there is in any truth in this seemingly callous yet honest phrase:

It's always better to [be with] someone that loves you more than you love them.

Can this possibly be a remedy for the extremes in relationships that Jessica and I have been experiencing these past few years? Could this be the very idea that I should have had in mind not but three months ago? If I had been on the other end, would I be better off? Because ultimately the ending of my relationship created a realization that dawned on me not only a few days ago: I loved someone that didn't love me.

It's a terrible feeling. I swore to myself that when I started seeing someone I would be certain how they felt and that nothing would be clandestine or hidden - that it would all be out in the open. But what I didn't put out into the open was that I have known all along, for the last year and a half at least, that I always attract men that I end up feeling more for than they feel for me. Always. I can count the examples on one hand. And they have been the extent of my so-called tragic and pathetic "love life."

Perhaps it wasn't only the other person in my relationships that was being dishonest - perhaps all along I was just being dishonest with myself. I should have known better than to believe that something so complex, something so sought after by so many people, something that makes people kill, something that keeps people alive could be so simple as to be wrapped into a neat little package that I could hoard, keep, and adore for the rest of my days. Nothing is ever so simple.

I have been wrong about so many things in my life, but it seems only now that the one thing I never wanted to be wrong about has hurt me the most. I have this unshakable inability to brush things off, forgive-and-forget, or even learn a lesson from my mistakes and misfortunes. Why is love so elusive to me? Why must everything be a challenge? Why, for the love of God, can't anything just be simple and easy? And it can't be because I make it so? No one chooses to make love elusive or complicated or fleeting, NO ONE! I certainly don't.

I feel so envious of anyone who has ever experienced a love outside of family and friends. The older I get, the more experienced I become the more I begin to feel that love evades me because I don't want it badly enough or that I am simply unfit for such a thing. I struggle every day to find in myself what my friends deem magnificent, what my parents call potential, and what my teachers coin as outstanding ability. It's hard. It really is...

I feel broken so much sometimes that I begin to wonder what could feel worse. My spirit is dry and I no longer yearn for the same things I once did. I feel that whatever I had with this past dead relationship has died with it. There is only so much soul-searching one can do. What if then I just don't have the soul to keep searching? What if I am merely a wasted replica of someone who was once better, smarter, prettier, or more adept? What if all I have come to think of myself means absolutely nothing because I don't really know anything about myself? Or the people I think I love, admire, or envy? What if everything I once believed has died and is never to return?

What if indeed...


*Always.
Caitlin

Wilted | Fresh


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Sometimes those most worthy of love are not made happy by it. ~Dangeous Liaisons
It is on the strength of observation that one finds a way; so we must dig and delve unceasingly. ~Claude Monet 1840-1926
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