Perhaps there really is something in the old adagio about always wanting what you can’t have.
“You need to find yourself a nice British boy” said one of my best friends recently. “Find one in London, not one who has to run back to America”.
I fell deeply for Mr. Ivan. I’m falling for The Engineer, Mr. Mike. Both live across the ocean on the other side of America.
I’ve always been drawn to the exotic; the unusual; the unattainable. Perhaps that’s all these crushes are – finding someone I know I can’t have and enjoying the fantasy that naturally spins from long distance communication.
When I find that perfect relationship, it won’t be with someone who wants to be with me every moment of every day – I need space around me and its my natural habit to push against restraints and boundaries; the curse of the creative mind. But I want someone who is there when I come home. I want someone who I cook Sunday brunch with. I want someone who waits until I fall asleep and pulls me deep into his arms because he can’t let me go.
I don’t want a relationship with the iMessage function on my phone. I want my heart to light up when I see a message come through from him, while knowing he’s only a train ride away. I don’t want to scrutinise over every line he sends – wondering, hoping, dreaming; flung into agony or ecstasy by a few meaningless words.
Am I really falling in love with The Engineer; or am I falling in love with the fact I can’t have him? Do I want him, or do I thrive on the pain of not having him?
Is that what really makes break ups so hurtful? Not that the other person is leaving us, but that they’ve become unattainable to us. They’re suddenly on the top shelf where we can’t reach them. Worse, that they don’t want us to.
They say true love is blind. But maybe that’s just because when we reach out, sometimes we can’t grasp it. All you can hope for is that someone is standing there reaching back; even if for now they’re just out of reach.