then & nowMature


"So I'm utterly fantastic. I mean just brilliant, I'm the kind of woman you all look at, every single last blue eyed one of you. You all stare lustily at me, the representation of the dream. You can't pull your gaze away from my long black curls cascading onto the pristine shoulders of one of my many perfectly tailored suits. As I walk past you without even glancing down you long for my impossibly spiky shoes, to wear them, to own them, to have me in them; whatever way it is that you look at me, you'll be looking at me

But then it's easy to pull that apart. Isn't it? My gleaming white teeth cost more than you earned last year so I must be stupid. I must be someone, something of importance to someone. An actress, a footballers trophy wife, a gold-digger? Well unlucky. I am more than those women, those asinine paintings of girls. Underneath this apparent veneer of perfection there is real fullness and individuality, individuality that sets me apart from the rest, but is that so bad?

I am everything my world says I should be. I am educated, self-made to extravagant success, sociable, open-minded and, a bit of justified arrogance aside, not a totally unbearable human being. You want to be me, or you want to have me. I definitely want to be me and given half a chance I'd definitely want me as well. As an individual I am as close to perfection in every way I was taught to understand, a cemented fixation by the world around me.

But here is where things get tricky. Here I am, this self-proclaimed goddess, someone who should be at the attention of everyone, yet I am alone. I have such confidence in my beauty and my capabilities as a powerful woman yet I have no one to share these things with. Are these things really tricky at all? 

I must look to meet you. You person, whoever you are. Normal pronouns are so useless here, because you could be anything, any one, any body, any mind. I expect nothing before we meet and every damn thing after we meet. I want to still be young enough to believe in love, I want to forget I can't remember why I need love. Maybe I’ve been looking in all the wrong places.

I've been with quite a few people. A lot. I'm in the fashion industry so the men I've laid next to are not frightening in the morning, as nothing has been hard for me in the traditional sense of dating failures. I've had relationships, and I in no way belittle those feelings between me and those wonderful, tolerant few I've called long term lovers; they were real, but they were not forever.

I am looking for you, that one who will be part of me emotionally and mentally to such an extent that it becomes physical and everlasting. No indiscretion would tear us apart, no torment break our bond. However painful and destructive we may seem to each other we could not, would not be parted. Our relationship will be indestructible.

 Most women my age interpret this screaming need as time to fill their womb with any inkling of a person they can download off the Internet and produce their own little brand new human to bond with. While I credit my female form as infinitely superior in the actuality of having that choice, I'm not ready to accept it as the only choice I have.

I cannot give up on you yet. I cannot settle for someone to keep me warm at night and help me rear young. I want you to come and question me, unnerve me and challenge me. I miss you already every day and I've never met you. Is that so bad?

 One thing is certain. I know I will meet you. Just as I have been taught in my years as a little girl until now, present in my patience to find you. I just don’t know when.  Maybe it will be in five minutes time, but it could just as easily be five years, or ten, or, God forbid, twenty.  But, like they say, patience is a virtue, so I guess I must wait. I must now set my life full of conceit aside and just wait. Maybe this is the lesson I should have leaned all along.

 One thing I do know, however, is I must not do is disregard you if you don’t instantly seem to fit into my life.  You are too important for that, and I know, more than many, that first impressions can be so wrong. Something tells me that your age is not important either.  In fact I have the feeling that it is almost essential that there will be some kind of gap.  You could be older, or many years younger than me.  Either way, it doesn’t matter. I will welcome it. I hope I will come to know you soon. Wherever and whoever you are, are you feeling the same, I wonder?"





 Wow, how did I end up here? Since when did I begin to base my life off of someone else and my preconceived thoughts of such? I remember the days when I was younger, in college and had a confidence about me that was undeniable. Anywhere I would go people would stare, wanting just a piece of my confidence and syntax about life, hoping to become that themselves. Everything used to be about me. My goals, my desires and my happiness, as now I seem to be stuck in a world fixated only on the basis of another man and his perception of exactly who I am and what I am capable of. How did this happen? Please tell me.

 I had always hoped that I wouldn’t lose sight of the person that I was, someone who to this day am still aspiring to be. I thought that what I have now is what I have always really wanted, but maybe that idea was as empty as my life is now. I am now a product of someone else, living within the context of their life, watching my own slowly fade away. Just as empty as I once was is as empty as I am now. Where did I go wrong? I feel as if I have become the asinine painting of that girl. 

The End

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