vinylgirl's Diaryland Diary

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Waiting Room Lovers

Sometimes I feel closer to an android than a human. When I am sitting crazed and hunched over a magnifying glass examining the tiny parts of my day like an insect's thorax, I do not believe I deserve love. Love is warm, spontaneous, irrational, and completely radical. I could have been great at chess. Each move plotted carefully, methodically, and precisely. How much control can there be over love?

In order to believe in love, do we have to believe in predetermination. When we feel overwhelmed by loneliness, heartache, rejection, we have to believe there is some plan for how we will fall in love, meet the one. There is a one. This one has been selected for us and there are a few bread crumbs to direct us to our prize.

Are there certain constants in our lives we can't escape?

There are certain people you just keep coming back to
She is right in front of you
You begin to wonder could you find a better one
Compared to her now she's in question

Looking for the right one you line up the world to find
Where no questions cross your mind
But she won't keep on waiting for you without a doubt
Much longer for you to sort it out

So we sat at the bottom of the stairs, crunched together, and you said everything will work out eventually. I want it to and you have no idea how much. I remember looking at your worn running shoes and scoffing in my mind, but my heart doesn't find them much. You know all my secrets and you still think I am ok.

How much longer are we both going to run from this? So I rest my chin on palm and stare you down. Are you my constant? I am tired of running. Tired of small talk and interpreting signals. Investing time in uncertainty.

But what if this isn't it? What if we make a mistake now to realize it tomorrow? But Christmas in New York would be perfect. Chicago in a couple years maybe. You can have Wrigley Field and I can spread my wings in a new city.

Do people choose us without our control, like puppies with big brown eyes? Hair parted unusually. Watching our words. Sitting on a fireplace hearth in Chapters reading the Marie Antoinette screenplay since the movie was not in theatres anymore. We joked about romance novels and expressed our mutual distaste for science fiction. It's going to be Christmas soon � the time where no romantic wishes to be alone. Solitude and Christmas lights are not complimentary concepts.

Can love grow from tiny seeds? Do they just need to be watered and allowed to soak the sun's rays? Is love a process we can follow in flow charts with scientific precision? Can we study it and know what comes next? Love must be more than a simple process of inputs and outputs. There has to be something more it. If it was so easy we could make anyone love us with the appropriate care, but we can't so there has to be something more. Someone who just fits without a logical explanation or a process. No matter how good some people are on paper, we need the real thing. So I suppose inbetween we canoodle with our waiting room lovers to pass the time to ease the loneliness.

<3 Alli

1:35 p.m. - 11/19/2006

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