Foundation of relationships~

We base relationships on different things. We all do. At least in my opinion I believe that we do. I would venture to say that some relationships may even have a healthy dose of pretense. She pretends he isn’t too small/too big (there) and he pretends she isn’t too big/or small (there). He pretends to like her cooking, she pretends to like to cook. She pretends to like his friends and family, he pretends to like hers. A healthy relationship built on a foundation of lies. Would complete honesty about physical shortcomings make for a better relationship? Would one half like to hear the other half listing all the shortcomings? “Hey honey, I hate your ears, they stick out too much and I think it makes you look kinda elephanty, and your ass looks like it’s grown another ass. Oh and if your tits fall anymore you can maybe invent some floor sweepers to attach to them, no sense in letting a good walk to the fridge for another piece of pie go to waste. Oh and honey I just can’t get enough of your crazy family.”

I’m past my prime, still hopeful that the pieces will come together and the puzzle will be complete. I don’t want to know the truth, well at least not the truth spilling out of his lips. I know all my physical shortcomings, I know all of my other shortcomings. The ones that have nothing to do with the outside, but the inside, the inside of my head and my heart. I’m not perfect, not in any extension of the word. I’m not a perfect mother, I never made for a perfect wife or friend. I can’t even aspire for perfection, it isn’t an ideal anyone should put on themselves. It would be setting myself for more failure. I’ve failed at enough I don’t need to try to drive myself crazier by thinking I could improve on what I think is already okay.

I naively used to think love was the most important aspect of a relationship, boy how stupid can one person be? In my new-found wisdom I can say trust trumps love. If there is no trust, there can’t be much of anything else. A foundation of trust needs to be built, once broken it is damn near impossible to repair it. I say damn near impossible, but not out of the question. I’m still hopeful, I’m still in love. Hope is alive. In me.

Trust can be broken in so many ways, someone leaves, someone lies, someone snoops, someone stalks, someone reveals intimate details to others. Rebuilding that trust takes tearing down the offending party and digging in, ripping the insides out and stomping all the bad out. Someone can’t be there when it matters the most. Putting everything back together gets tricky.

And on that note I’m checking out…meds have kicked in…so I’ll continue later, later.

 

The ONE that got away~

The one that got away…wasn’t at the end of a fishing pole nabbed by any bait on a shiny hook, reeled in by that shiny new reel. No, not quite like that. It is an old story, no fishermen involved, no placid lake waters, no fish. Sit for a spell if you will. It is a story as old as time, it is a tale of love found and love lost. They met, they flirted, they became friends, shared laughter, shared passion, shared as much as two people can when the going is good.

But when the going gets tough the tough get going. Not going in a heroic way as “Hey I’m in for the long haul.”

The going was more in the lines of “Hey, I’m tough and I’m outta here”.

C’est la vie.

The passion fizzled, the laughter stopped, the love…well the love went the way of a treasure. You know how it is when you have something you treasure, you put it away, not to take it out and admire it or longingly reflect on days of old. More like it’s something you no longer have use for but there is that old sentimentality, you can’t help but want to hang on to it, like an old pair of jeans so full of holes, asscrack is falling out, knees are shredded, but man, when you pull them up over your hips, button them and enjoy the familiar feel of comfort they bring you just have that feeling of home and for that reason alone…you keep them. You could also replace those tired old jeans and put in its place a ratty old teddy bear, old photos, you name it, whatever that one thing is that takes you back in time.

But back to the one that got away, She did. Not by choice, well at least not by her choice. So many years have come and gone, so many pages of lives lived. Life happened, and in that time there was no time for reflection on the getting away. But when time stands on a couple of dimes and the floodwaters are passing through the damn of time, it’s there again, front and center. The pain of drifting apart, the hurts hurled and meant to cut deep down to the soul. Well that there is what makes some lose their souls. It just is. And it’s all right. Time stands still for no one. Life happens, and we all move on.

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