Could it be that I have finally met her? She was standing right outside my window this morning, seemingly unaware that her quiet humming was still loud enough to pierce my consciousness. I hadn’t noticed her there before. Maybe we had already crossed paths, but that didn't matter. My mind could not focus on anything else besides how she captured that moment, leaving me enraptured.
The way she presented herself confused me to the point where I considered going back to bed. Yet, I got up the courage to confront her, to trust that she would still exist beyond first glance. I walked down the wooden steps of my sun-kissed-stained porch and toward the front yard that hinted with its green colors of an early spring. I yelled toward her, but when the person looked up, she disappeared, leaving me embarrassed that I had tried to pursue her in the first place. The individual standing in her place was perplexed, asking with their eyes what I was doing there. “I thought you were someone else,” I said as I turned to walk away.
I do this often – seeing her in people and places. She often abandons me, leaving me to think she doesn’t like me much. But I guess I’m not too fond of her either. After all, it’s difficult to like someone whose apathy fills you with uncontrollable frustration, frustration that you must, in fact, control, for fear of finding pity from those who know her well. Still, despite this indifference, I grow more addicted – to her presence, to the warmth she gives me, to the hope she instills in my mind.
While I wait patiently, she seems to happily ingratiate herself with everyone else, tugging at their hands and body, shifting and shaping them to companion another one of her molds. I observe, wondering when I will tumble down the hill toward her truest form. But I continue standing sturdy at its peak, making do with her imposters. As she, the all-powerful she, eludes me, I must take what the world offers and play a sadistic game of pretend.
Others have told me they understand – that they too have sought her, maybe even caressed her long hair, but failed to hold her tight in an embrace that would make everything right with the world. But, they say, those draining days that are filled with this incessant chase come to an end. Eventually, there will be no need to run after her, because she will show up in front of you, unexpectedly, craving your touch. To this, I have begun to roll my eyes, as their words have fallen flat, time and time again. A worldwide, orchestrated lie to keep all of us, her mere acquaintances, at bay.
Who knows? Maybe it’s just a matter of time, or maybe, as much as I don’t want to believe it, it is I who is not ready for her. But how can that be true when I feel so capable to give someone else so much, to encapsulate her? Unfortunately, there is no true way to determine her motives or when our time will come. Ashamed I don’t even know her name, all I can do is continue on with the irrational conviction that one day she will choose me. A special kind of love -- "Her Love" -- will choose me.
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