Perfect?

The moment that someone leans in and kisses you for the first time is a moment of pure unadulterated romance. I am not talking about the boy that drunkenly, sloppily kisses you after a tequila shot. I am talking about the guy that walks you home just to make sure you get there safe. When that guy leans in and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips your heart skips a beat. The sounds of a mellow indie rock love song play in your head.  Every first kiss like that seems like possibly the beginning.  

Unfortunately not every kiss is the beginning, and not every romantic moment is part of a greater romance.  Sometimes a moment is just that: fleeting, insignificant, and forgettable.  Romance can be falsely manufactured for a boy’s own purpose.  Hope can be given as a means to an end.  

When the other shoe drops and the moments of pure ecstasy are revealed as purely moments of convenience, your heart breaks.  Not because you were in love, but it breaks that the possibility of love is no longer there.  Being disappointed by someone you have pined over, been sweet talked by, can make another tiny piece of your heart harden.  How long until your whole heart is cold and hard?  

My heart breaks because I am just as far from finding a relationship, a partner, love than I was a week ago, maybe even further away.  Maybe it is because I don’t know how to reconcile the romantic side of me with the sensual side.  How do I be the bombshell with a heart?  If I am one, they want the other.  I don’t know how to shake my sense of inadequacy when every corner I turn, I am being told I am not good enough for something or someone.  All I want in life is to be not just enough for someone, but to be someone’s own idea of perfect.  

I have spent so much of my life trying to please everyone, to be perfect and put together, hiding behind makeup and clothes.  I will never be perfect, because the reality is I am a mess.  But there is someone out there that will think that my neurotic, obsessive, nerdy tendencies make me their own idea of perfect.  

Besides, that guy, that I believe is looking for me too, I have to learn to see myself as MY OWN idea of perfect.  I have to love my curves and the fact that my hair will never grow long.  I have to adore the fact that one of my eyes gets droopy when I have had too much to drink, and that my left knee will always hurt when it rains.   I have to stop chastising myself for not being what I think I should be.  There are some things about myself I can never change, and those are the things that make me unique, the things that make me Harper.

Instead of trying to be what I think will attract romance, I need to be me.  Maybe then, instead of a fleeting moment, I will find my great romance.            

What I Should Have Written Instead of Hiding ...

I keep saying I am going to stop going MIA on all of you readers, but then I find myself sitting in front of a blank screen waiting for my fingers to make words.  I wait for the words to flow, to find humor or tragedy in some minute detail of my life.  I look for something to entertain you, warm your hearts, or bring tears to your eyes.  The trouble is I can’t.  

I should have written some great post about the Halloween party I went to despite how huge I felt in my costume.  I should have painted this haze of a picture that involves 2 different boys kissing me that night.  Talked about how I wasn’t really sure I wanted to kiss either of them, but it had been too long and felt too good to stop.  I know I should have talked about the Texas boy creeping closer to me while we talked, leaning in and taking me by surprise when his lips touched mine.  I should have written about my quick escape when I realized we were making out in the middle of the party, and how my neighborhood bar seemed like the perfect haven.  How I saw the signs when buff boy number 2 pulled me into his kiss, and how I didn’t refuse it.  I should have talked about my lack of shame that night.  When boy number 2 walked me home I didn’t let him stay, and I was proud of myself.  I could have invited the boy I didn’t care about up to my bed to end the dry spell, to feel wanted, but I didn’t.  I should have written about that, how it made me feel, how proud I was of myself, how lonely I felt.    

I should have written about my winery adventures with Chloe, Elle, Connor and crew.  I should have written about the wine, the laughs, the cute dogs everywhere.  I should have written about brunch with Hadley, and how it turned into an all day affair.  I should have written about my date and how he split the check, how there was no spark, how it left me feeling lonelier than ever.  

More than anything I should have written about starting therapy.  I should have written about how my breakdown got to be too much for me to bear.  I have been going for two months now, and it is helping me find an inner peace.  I am working on my issues that keep me from being a happy person.  I wanted to tell all of you, even though you probably already know, that I have been drowning in my self-consciousness.  I am learning to be more assertive and to eliminate definitive words like should and must from the way I think about my life (upon my Therapist's Suggestion).   

I should have written about a lot of things, but I just didn’t know if any of you would want to read them.  More than that I think I wanted to hold something for myself after finding out about D.  I have made so many of my deepest darkest moments public, by choice, especially my relationship with D.  I was embarrassed that he could still hurt me, and I just wanted to heal in private.  I have been trying to heal the same way I always do, I guess: kiss some inappropriate boys to prove I can, surround myself with friends, and drinking LOTS of wine.  The only thing different this time was I wasn’t sure I was ready to share it with the world.