Single Life So Real

It’s hard not to care when it’s something I’ve never had. I’ve never been touched, or loved, or kissed by someone who meant it. Who wanted to feel what it was truly like to see inside me. Never looked at like I was the most brilliant person to ever enter their atmosphere. I never had anyone step into my own and break me down, introducing me to the purest version of myself. Behind the makeup, behind the pretty, behind the weirdness, behind the ugly.

I’ve navigated through different channels in search of this one thing. The tragedy is that I’m 23 with no history of a physical genuine affection. Just “likes” on Instagram or compliments on social media. But at this age I am wise enough to know that the path to something real is not this vacuous. It is not designable. I cannot devise a plan for a man to fall for me no matter how many dates I ask him on, or however many pieces of myself I show him. It has been and will always remain a mystery. And no matter how many times I tell myself or feel as close to the reality that I am not as in love with love as I was, something reminds me again that I am. It’s in the message of a song or a photographic moment that transports me into the crystal vaults of my heaven and cotton daydreams of lying in bed with the perfect man God intended for me all along.

Candied fevers of love line the recesses of my fantasies. I sway to the beat of lovers unloved. I carry my weight in skin tight jeans. Hold me dearly if you already know how. My gaze is radiant in the sunlight as I ponder once upon a dream. My limbs are seashells on waves of sand, but the ocean is where I want to be. Lilac lovers, I’m a lilac lover too, looking for the one on the streets of France. But the one who looks is never found when all he does is roam around. If you stay in the place where you should be, he will find you there eventually. Not virtually, OkCupid, Grindr, or Tindr. I want to hear from him that I’m “mine.” If you don’t get what I mean, never mind. I’m only waiting to be found, but I’m not waiting anymore. Not for the men who want skin then leave to the door. I mean more and I’m everything, and through him I’m adored. Crown me, I’m a king; immortalize me with a ring. Beating white heart, I write the lyrics that you sing. For serenades that cascade queer Valentine understanding.

Happy Valentine’s Day to me and to all the single individuals out there right now, especially those who have never found love. Today means nothing, and even if I had a boyfriend I wouldn’t care about it as much. But the single life remains real and I remain the realest single bitch alive.

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