Saturday, July 24, 2010

Holding On

I seem to find the wrong ones.
I seem love the wrong ones too.
But really--what does wrong mean?
Wrong can mean unreliable.
Wrong can mean untrustworthy.
but Wrong can also mean Different
or Odd
or Unique
or Complex

I am all these things too.

I love the flaws, the dark, my own and other peoples'.
Sometimes the darkness hides incredible light.
Sometimes it's just dark.

My sister calls them my projects.
What or who am I trying to fix?
Myself or them?

I want to hate men right now.
I can't. I love them too much.
An ex once told me I would never get married--
You can't, Carolyn. You just love men, men in general.
I love this prediction.

Men as men think differently.
My aunt is reading the book Committed.
I can't, because this book makes me cry.
But then, everything right now makes me cry.
It makes me lose (more) hope, if that is even possible.
My dad hates the book.
"Put the book away Kath." He knows it's upsetting me.

He's pragmatic about relationships, to the point of simplification.
Men as men think differently.
Women as women think differently from men.
Men, he says, are all the same way, hardwired to cheat.
It's something they have to
learn to control, that's all, he says.
It's just that some don't learn. Couldn't. Or hadn't been given the example not to.
This all makes sense.

Men as friends care deeply
They don't worry about the number of calls
Who called who
Who wants who more
What is needed, what is expected.
They just arrive, in the message box, on the phone
Checking in.

I want to hate men but I can't.
I'm still curious.

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