Wistful Spinster

"Beauty is not caused. It is."
-Emily Dickinson


It's these damned insomniac nights that keep me awake all lovelorn and pathetic.
These cold winter nights with too-quiet re-run tv shows streaming online, reminding me of when I was young enough to dream of being beautiful and foolish enough to hope for fairytale romances.

I spent decades waiting to be beautiful. This morning, I left the house wishing I could be invisible. And of course, everyone I didn't want to see saw me. But then again, I suppose that was bound to happen if I didn't want anyone to see me anyway....

Beauty is so ridiculous. Though not as much as love. Tonight I threw away a bottle of perfume from someone I once loved. Someone who swore they'd devote their life to my joy, their days to mine, someone who told me he loved me so much he couldn't be without me.

It almost makes me wonder where he is tonight...

It's just perfume. A logical part of my brain said "There are starving children in Africa and you're throwing away perfectly usable perfume." Meanwhile the sensible part of my brain said "Why would you possibly want a reminder of something that stopped making you smile years ago?"
And the "me" side of me said "Oh for FUCK'S sake just throw the damn thing away already and stop reverting to childhood packrat psychological defects!"

I know it's just perfume. It wasn't ever one I really loved anyway. And yet, for some reason it still matters. Long after he did. Funny how that works.

My mom keeps referring to me as being 30. She's only off by 2 years and four months. But it might as well be the same thing, I suppose. lol

I spent the last four days sick in bed with nothing to do but watch movies. I never realized how embarrassingly romantic-comedytastic my movie collection is. I like mushy love stories. I'll never admit it with pride, but they get all the lives I'll never live.

Me? I stay up past midnight every night, writing poetry writing in journals, writing in blogs... I burn candles that remind me of a boy I once dated. Probably the one thing I loved the very most about his was that he always had candles by his bed. He used to read to me by candlelight and I remember thinking I was greatly missing out on one of the best things in life.

I had dozens of candles. I was just too chicken to ever burn them because if I did, I might not have any left, should the opportunity arise whereupon I could read by candlelight and someone would think me beautiful and romantic.

What the hell is so important about romance anyway? I wonder sometimes if God created it to enrich us or drive us all mad! ;)

the man int the too-quiet tv show is talking above the darkness of this night.

"I've had The Great Romance of my life... and I've had the pain the pain that comes when you lose it. I'm not anxious to go through that again."

I wonder if Emily Dickinson would agree or if she would think it worse to be a lovelorn spinster.
I'll likely never see again the boy for whom I burn so many candles. I doubt, in the times I cross his mind, that it would ever ocurr to him I still write about him. He never bought me perfume, he wasn't the great romance and it was pretty much doomed to fail from the start.

But he was beauty, in every way.
How he stood, how he talked, how he breathed, how he looked into my eyes and filled my chest with a thousand spastic butterflies, desperate to make their escape. He is without a doubt the most beautiful person I've ever known.

And just like the seasons, I will never see an autmn like him again.

Well, my lungs feel like my long-absent asthma is creeping back in and I'm just rambling.
It's about time this poor candle got some rest and my mind drifted elsewhere for a while.

"If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain."
-Dickinson