What this girl wants...

What I want is this:

Phone rings.

Me: “Hello?”

Him: “Hey, it’s me. I just dropped the kids off and I really want to see you. I’m on my way over.”

Me: “Really?”

Him: “Really…”

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. I open it. He’s there. He cradles my face gently in his hands and kisses me like I want to be kissed. No words, no sounds, just a kiss.

And from there, well, you know the rest.

What will happen:

Me, popcorn, “Dexter” and “Walking Dead”.

The thing is, I’m a bitter, cynical, non-romantic-comedy chick. I prefer watching “Dexter” to anything vaguely “chick flick”.

But deep in my dark, twisted heart lies a woman who just wants to be romanced. And I mean really romanced.

My ex knew how to play at romantic. He said all the right things, he surprised me once or twice with something he would say. He tried flowers, he tried gifts, all that stuff.

But he never really swept me off my feet.

And I realized, after spending time with the Filmmaker last week, my ex never told me I was beautiful, unless it was in response to a dress I wore. And maybe on our wedding day. I can assure you he never told me I was sexy. Ever.

And no one has ever expressed that they WANTED me in the way the Filmmaker did last week. He said things to me about wanting to take me home and how he would seduce me that sent my little heart into a tizzy. I still didn’t go home with him because that’s just not in my nature but, man, I wanted to, more than I have ever wanted to with anyone, with the exception of the Poet. The Poet was an exception to many rules.

Anyway, back to the Filmmaker…

And that set my broken, shattered, romantic heart spinning, building scenarios that can never happen, that never happen in real life. Scenarios like the one above, that only happen in sappy films that manipulate you into crying because that scenario is never going to fucking happen in anybody’s fucking life.

And that pisses me off just a bit.

Because I will never have that moment. And I want that moment more than I really care to admit. Although I did just admit it to at least 52 of you.

And it makes me ache that no man will ever do this to the woman he loves because, well, because they’re men. And men just don’t do that. At least not in my world.

And it makes me pine a little bit more for that kind of moment, that once-in-a-lifetime moment that I would carry with me forever. And really make me feel like the most amazing, incredible, beautiful woman in the world… ever…

And it will never happen.

Because it just doesn’t.

And yet, I still want it so much that I spend hours fantasizing about these incredible moments I want to have happen in my life, to find someone who will actually bring those moments to life.

And it will never happen.

And, really, the way my life has been, the one amazing night last Saturday with the Filmmaker will probably be the last one I have with him. My life is not wanton knocks on the door in the middle of the night by a man who just has to see me. It’s more like men telling me how amazing I am, how incredible I am and then vanishing into the dark.

So now I’m just waiting for the dark to swallow up the Filmmaker so I can add his head to my virtual wall of men who won’t date me. Because I am more certain that this will be the outcome of our encounter than the scenario that started this blog. I’m so certain that he’ll run that I’ll be surprised if he does actually make the next move, as much as I want him to make that move, whatever it may be. It doesn’t have to be showing up at my door, in the rain (rain always makes it more romantic), kissing me like his life depends on it. It can just be actually calling to see me again. Right now, that would be enough.

And while that may make me sound sad and pathetic, I accept that this is my lot in life. I thought I had romance with my ex-husband because he said all the right things, he brought me flowers and gave me all the little trinkets that are supposed to be romantic. And I couldn’t make that relationship work. And his romance left me feeling empty and alone, not loved and embraced.

And I have chosen to be alone and keep my protective guard up. I could have gone home with the Filmmaker on Saturday. And it would have been an incredible night, of that I am certain. But my dark, twisted heart would have been lost to him, no matter how much I may pledge that it wouldn’t be. So I chose to say no, chose to say not right now but thank you very much and let’s try it later. I chose to take a chance that this man will be a man and take me at face value, that his affection and desire for me is stronger than two little letters - n-o.

And if it’s not, then that was my choice to be alone. That was my choice to say no. That was my choice to protect myself and not get lost again.

And I’m not sure what I will do if he calls, if he wants to see me because I never have gotten that far, as far as someone actually wanting to be with me. It’d be so much easier if last Saturday was all there was because it would then be a beautiful memory of someone who wanted me once. Perfect and precious and special because it didn’t become something garish and real and wrong.

So what I want and what will be are eons apart and never the twain shall meet, in all probability. And I’m not sure what to do with that and I’m not even sure why I shared this with you. Just the ramblings of a single woman on a Sunday night thinking about a soon-to-be-lost possibility and hoping that maybe somehow, he will actually show up at my door, shattering all my cynicism and bluster with a single kiss.

Yeah, that’ll happen.