Unrequited Love

Stockings & stiletto heels. Part of "my
prettiest (retro) outfit" [third paragraph]

This should be the theme to my life if it isn't already.  I've fallen hard for three men within the past decade.  I've felt love, but it's often not reciprocated.  I feel as though I have missed a major milestone on my life timeline, though I suppose that it comes with the territory with my age: everyone around me is in a serious relationship, engaged, married, or starting a family. I am 28, single, and living in my mother's house.  Not the norm for society, though I've always swayed from societal norm from a young age.  Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for my friends that are in serious relationships, engaged, married or starting a family, but I just thought that I could fit into one of those categories by now. I've thought a lot about relationships lately, what I've had, what I covet, and the changes I've had with each.  I've tried writing about this today, while in a trendy cafe in Portland (I was hoping that I wouldn't be mistaken for a hipster, as they tend to be prominent in the area), but couldn't focus. Why is that? The fact of the matter is that there were two former flames of mine and a mutual friend playing music for the brunch crowd.  I can usually take these situations in stride, but today was different...I was fickle with my words to paper and tried to block out the distractions.  Unfortunately, that didn't help, so I find myself here: 1:00am and writing a stream-of-consciousness blog that will no doubt take many side routes as my tired brain will allow.  Where was I? Yes...the title..."unrequited love." It's a redundant term and not properly used by many. I may be guilty of it.  But I've felt the sting that it leaves, if there's anyone out there reading this, you know what I'm talking about.  So, to get things off of my chest, I have vignettes of three former loves to follow in the next paragraphs.  Nothing in depth, nothing calling them out by name, description, or otherwise.  The men you will read about will remain anonymous for their and my own peace of mind (and safety, if anyone who happens to know them feels vengeful). NOTE: If you do read this blog and you are a subject, don't think of me as a psychopath...I've needed to write about this for a while.  Please don't think ill of me.
I thought that I had found "The One" when I had made the transition from high school to college.  My first serious boyfriend, my first of many events of my life, my only love for five years.  I won't delve into the nuances of the romance...but it was a simpler time (LiveJournal as the premier social networking site) and I was a naive girl.  He ended the relationship...I dove into the darkest emotional state I have ever been in and started seeing a therapist because of this (which is where I will leave that fact at, since I don't want to get too melancholy, or force up bad memories).  Emotionally, I was a wreck a year after the break, as most are after losing their first love...I didn't even attempt to date.  I had no desire to even flirt with anyone; I still believed that we belonged together and a part of me still loved him and wouldn't allow myself to be tempted...basically, I was a nun without the religion, habit, and convent.
Eventually, I opened up to new friendships and socializing.  I went to an event where I met who I thought was the perfect match for me.  I wasn't even looking for someone...I had just come to listen to music, have a pint or two, and take some photos.  I ended up falling hard for this one; the quintessential bad boy.  Always an air of mystery and I never really got inside of his head, so to speak.  I had never had a summer romance before, and soon enough, he moved away, and I was able to see him twice before things died out completely.  I had hopes that he was thinking of me, missing me, as I was still carrying a torch for him.  I found out that he was going to be back in town about ten months after I had last seen or heard from him, so being a girl, I donned my prettiest (retro) outfit that I could and a friend of mine offered to come with me so that my nerves could be in check.  It was a good thing she was there...I had found out from observation that he was with someone else. Talk about a knife to the heart.  It was that evening where my girlfriend / wing-woman stood up for me and another friend of mine held me in his arms while I cried for another love lost.
My friend who had let me cry in the shelter of his arms on that September evening had been a friend of mine for slightly over a year (and an acquaintance of the aforementioned man in the last paragraph).  Nothing had changed between us on that night, but he knew of my fragile emotional state and often checked in with me to see how I was feeling.  It was about a month later and I was driving a girlfriend home from a party, when I saw him walking in the opposite direction.  I stopped the car, offered a ride, and he accepted.  I dropped my girlfriend off first, and asked if he would like to ride shotgun and where he was heading.  When we got to the location, I parked the car and helped him gather his belongings.  Before I knew it, I was back in his arms again, being kissed tenderly and lovingly.  I didn't know what to think so I went with it.  I wasn't hesitant, scared, or suspicious.  It was the first time in a while that I felt truly cared for and loved.  I had forgotten what that had felt like.  I was the happiest I had been in years when I was with him (this is true for our friendship before the romance as well).  It was, by far, the most adult relationship I had had in my life.  We talked, laughed, planned, and I had even let my walls down so far as to let him hear me sing (I rarely let people listen to me sing...I'm super self conscious!)  The happiness that I was feeling ended when he threw the curve ball of the century (as far as I'm concerned) and said that he didn't want a relationship.  I was sad, angry, hurt and every other emotion on the spectrum.  We talked for hours that night, but nothing else came of it.  He wanted out and I couldn't convince him otherwise.  I fought, though...fought like hell to get him back.  In a way, I still am.  We had even talked today after I had gotten over my insecurities (see first paragraph) and I was so bold as to flirt a little bit.  I wasn't put down as I had been in the past since the split (but I wasn't taken up on any offers either) so there was some glimmer of hope today...maybe that time is key to heal wounds (cliche, I know...sue me) and that maybe, someday, I can regain what I had with this particular man.  Even though I've loved before him, I can't help but to think that what we had is the textbook definition of love.