You're the one I long to talk to: the difficult one, the one with a problem. You with your fickle nature, only calling me when you need me. Otherwise, you don't know I'm alive. I wait for your call still. I wait with bated breath. I don't like to hang on your every word, but your voice is so sexy. Even when her voice may not be sexy, it's the need that I crave. She needs me to make things right; she needs me to solve a problem, or just to listen.
Why do I want to be the one who rescues you? Why do I need to have someone to rescue? Surely, when the dragons are slain in this case, I will not be the victorious knight, but the one left to pick up the pieces of my life after I stopped it to solve the broken pieces of yours. I like to help, I do, but maybe I should help myself. I can't be that person, though, who doesn't answer when you call. I want to be there for someone when there's no one else to talk to in the middle of the night.
I really want someone though with whom I can have an intelligent conversation. Someone who can recommend a book, or argue that Faulkner is a hack, or tell me something about Dante, even though I've read him more than you. I want to be around brilliant people who make me want to be a better person, scholar, reader, and human being. I want someone to whom I am drawn to for her mind, a person who I could have telepathic conversations with her disembodied brain in a jar and share the intimate knowledge of a good poem.
I can't lie and say beauty doesn't matter to me, because I am drawn to beautiful women, it's true. But I think at the end of the day, or a year, or a decade, it won't matter how much I like looking into your eyes, though I want to forever; the thing that will really matter is what we talk about before and after we've made love. This love of speaking and reading is not to say that I don't enjoy sex, because I do. I'm merely saying that there are more pleasures in life than those of our flesh.
Hours I've spent trying to solve this woman or that, and when it really comes down to it, I just like listening. I get angry at her specifically because she told me I was going to end up alone. She believes, perhaps erroneously, perhaps completely justifiably, that I am a slave to superficial pursuits of physical beauty and youth. If I save myself for the best I want to offer myself to, I will miss on someone who may have been lesser for me? Perhaps it is justifiable to say that I should make myself more available, but as to my standards, I pledge to maintain them.
Often I am a mass of insecurities, but I know that I am an exemplary person. This is not ego talking or vanity: I just know myself and the kind of person I am. Certainly I am duplicitous in some aspects of my personality. The aforementioned insecurity comes to mind. I attempt to hide this from anyone I can, but I fear it rears its ugly head in over-devotion, jealousy, and self-derision. I'm more of a hipster perhaps than I care to admit, though I often poke fun at those who call themselves such. I want to be the one who people come to and ask comic book questions, yet I act annoyed when everyone does so. I like being that guy who is the expert and I like being the one who's read that book that no one has heard about. I like my grey canvas shoes and I pride myself with my esoteric knowledge of things no one else cares to know.
Having said that I sometimes aim to deceive, I will continue my point to say I do so less than others, at least in my estimation. I try to see the other side, or your side rather, of every issue. Sometimes my side should be the only one that matters. In that sense I should practice selfishness and be more used to it. Look out for myself and not try to solve all of your problems. My balance in wanting to see all sides of an issue can lead to indecision and I despise that aspect of myself. I want to consider everything, but I also want to act and quicker than I do.
I still get angry at your suggestion when I hear you say that he will end up alone, you know it, because you said the same about me. A person doesn't know anything about the future for certain any better than I know the numbers of hairs on my head. Perhaps there is a mystical god or book that knows this number, but I can't know it, at least on this side of reality. You don't know how I will end up any more than you know everything that will happen in the stock market tomorrow: you just can't. Perhaps I am holding out for a better person, but it's because I deserve one.
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