I can’t believe I’m writing this.

Absolutely cannot believe it. For my poor, unsuspecting readers who were looking for something political, some chewing out of Putin; some wry remark on the middle east– you will be disappointed with this entry.

Maybe it’s because I’m so tired– 4 hours of sleep in the last week would do that to you. Perhaps its the fact that its late at night, I’m listening to nostalgic classical music, and feeling lonely. Maybe it’s because I’m a romantic sap who desperately wants a boyfriend, but the fact of the matter is that I’ve got Phantom on my mind.

Yes, you read correctly. Phantom. THE Phantom. The Phantom of the Opera, of course. The amazing hunky-sexy-dark-tormented-needed-desperately-to-be-loved-and-adored-by-an-understanding-woman-such-as-myself
Phantom of the Opera, played by Gerald Butler. The image of Etienne in the Sailormoon fanfiction “Fantastic Journey”. Now, I’m streching it a bit here, but tall and dark and tormented, right? Add Severus Snape to the list. Yes, yes, I’m talking about the character in Harry Potter, who I know needs someone to show him compassion and squeeze him tight.

I want a man like that. Yes, like that. I don’t want some naive boy for a husband (when I get one– if I get one– ever), I want someone who has stared down the worst that life can offer, and walked out of it; damaged, but still there. Still living; still accepting possiblity. I don’t think I could stand it otherwise. There are so many different parts of myself– odd as this may sound, I have to write it– so many experiences and secrets and yearnings and wounds that have never been discovered by another human being before. The idea of a monogamous significant other is emmensely pleasing to me. I want to find someone who has been through some of the things I have– someone who is not sheltered, but who can truly empathize. I want to get married, and give myself away, heart, mind, body, soul– everything that I am, out in the open, up to trust. There’s not a lot of trust in my life, right now. To be honest, that why I want the tormented kind. Someone who understands the pain of betrayel. Someone who wouldn’t ever do that to me. Someone who could understand, to hold me, and let me cry, and shush me, and stroke my hair, and kiss my tears away. I want someone who will feel with me. I just– I have this unexplicable desire– to share myself with someone else– to be loved and understood and cared for in all the recesses of my soul and spirit. If I could someone who could love me, me, with my controlling ways, my sharp tongue, my mood swings, my perfectionism, my strange fancies… Someone who could see something beyond the flaws, not be scared by the assertiveness and the brain, someone who actually looked me in the face instead of talking to my chest (grr)… Honestly, though… I’m not sure I’ll ever find anyone interested. I’m an eclectic creature; an aquired taste, but I grow sweeter and better like a vintage wine as the years go on. There’s a catch, always– I’m one those “prudes” these days who demand complete monogamy and who won’t go to bed until I have the signed marriage contract. I demand respect. But then again, respect is something we should demand of everyone, even ourselves? I don’t understand why the requirement of not being a toy; a plaything is so abhorrent to so many guys these days.

Even if I were to find the “perfect” guy (perfect for me, anyways), I’m not sure that I‘d be ready to commit, awful as that sounds. A year ago that wasn’t the case– I did commit and gave the guy my heart. To this day, I’m not so sure I have it back. He wants me to return, and in some ways I want to go back. But he broke my trust on every level; and no matter how much it hurts, I’m worth enough to know… That that’s not healthy. I care about him so much… But the things he’s done mean that I can’t… Pick up after him anymore. I love to give; I want a relationship where I can give and give and give everything that I am– but I want the same in return. Love, its supposed to be a partnership, right? I want someone to share the load that sometimes seems unbearable, and I will carry theirs. I can be someone’s wife, girlfriend, lover… But I can’t be their saviour. An inspiration for a better life, a change, a companion through the pain, a friend with a shoulder to cry on, a lover with welcoming arms, but not a saviour! We choose our destinies; I refuse to choose for someone else. I struggle enough with mine. I would love to a shining star, a beacon of hope, a catalyst, but not the means to the end, I want to be the end. I want the desire of his heart to be that of waking up next to me everyday for the rest of his life.

I have commitment problems of my own, I suppose. This is attributed to the fact that every single one of the men I have cared for in my life (fathers, brothers, the one boyfriends, some friends) have betrayed and broke my trust. As unfair as this is, there are some days when I hate men. I’m not a toy, nor am I glass, fragile to the touch. I’m not a museum piece to be admired, I’m not a dish to be sampled, I am not a convience! I am a father’s daughter, not his vicarious clone, I am an ex-girlfriend, not an alternative option, I am a friend, not a benefit, I’m a sister, not a scapegoat. With experiences… I sometimes feel like I’ll never be able to fully trust a man again. Don’t misunderstand me, I’ve been hurt by women too, but less often, and less deeply. Another reason what I want the dark type– someone who will nurse my hurts, and I, his.

But this idea of love– it really is a phantom, isn’t it? An evanescence, a shadow… There’s no one there, no one to share anything with. Until I find that person– if I ever do– I’m stuck with my fantasies.