NO, NO, NO! Lizard! You did the right thing…if you didn’t feel like you couldn’t live without her, she would NOT have been a good match. My ex and I are compatible…but he is my ex. You are still young. Wait for the real thing. It’s worth it.
Great post, lorene! I especially wanted to second this part.
And, to badly misquote a Star Trek episode, every time you love someone, it’s different.
I really only personally have two kinds of love, classical distinctions notwithstanding: familial love and what I think qualifies as “romantic” love per the OP. This means that if I find someone interesting and likable enough to qualify as a “friend” rather than “acquaintance,” I have a better than even chance of loing them sooner or later. I love quite a few people, whether there’s any possibility of an actual romantic relationship, or just a friendship - and yeah, that’s pretty tough, but I’d rather have them as friends than lose them just because being around them sets all my nerves afire.
I had the mis/fortune of falling backside-over-teakettle in love with an old friend recently. I’ve filled up pages on my LiveJournal with what I’ve discovered about myself in the past three weeks - which I could never have learned with the Spouse, simply because this is a different person. It hurts - a lot - and yet, I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
I’d be happy to, but do you really want me to?
Recently, I discovered that – to me – there is little better in the world than to be able to love someone, without fear, conditions, or restrictions; to love so well and fully that is impossible to hold grudges, but only forgive no matter how much someone hurts you (even if it means you must go your seperate ways). This feeling came as I was able to forgive myself for my own wrongs and truly love myself, free from fear and insecurity.
Love, to me, is to be able to give of oneself, generously, often and without apprehension, and yet never feel empty.
Well, that’s not precisely it. I don’t think I took enough time then to figure what I actually felt. I certainly was not experienced enough to be sure that everything I thought/felt about this type of thing back then was 100% valid. I gave up just when something truly deep was on the verge of developing, and in retrospect, I think I was just scared by that. But I shouldn’t have been. She was somebody I could trust. She was a person without guile, or any other character flaw.
Well that is a little different. You don’t know that it wouldn’t have worked out and you don’t know that it would have either. Still, there will be someone else like that, you just have to sort through a lot of duds first.
This is interesting. What was his immediate response? Was he taken aback? Unsurprised? Intending to ask you?
Well, Lizard, I knew we weren’t going to be able to talk over the long weekend so I poured my heart and my proposal into a letter (I was a big chicken then) and slipped it to him before we parted that Wednesday.
When we got back to school Saturday I was terrified I had scared him away. The best person to ever enter my horrible life and I had already blown it! So… when he saw me he asked me if I really meant what was in the letter. I said yes. He then asked me to ask him again what I had written. So I asked him if he would marry me. He said yes 
We were young and still in college (I didn’t graduate but he did… long story) so we kept our little secret and continued to date until he graduated. Once he got out of school and was working full time we moved in together and married 7 months later. Just the other day I told his mom about me asking him to marry me. She thought that was pretty funny since she never realized until I had an engagement ring that we were that serious about eachother!
That’s a really sweet story, tanookie.
I used to think it was real. But with what I’m going through now, I’m beginning to think it’s really just a cruel trick of God’s so that he can amuse himself watching us suffer.
Lizard, my bad! Story: Calvin Coolidge, who had rep for not talking much, was at a WH party. A woman walked up to him, remarking, “I have a bet I can get more than three words out of you.” his reply, “You lose.”
Over the years, I’ve learned that love is a lot like lye soap. It has the near-miraculous power to cut through some of the most God-awful messes you could imagine. It can take out stains you thought had ruined something forever, and it can wash away the hardened scum and film from your heart and soul, leaving you fresh and clean. It doesn’t do all this all on its own, though; you still have to put some hard-core elbow grease into it sometimes. And you can’t ever get complacent and absent minded around it, because it can eat a whole right through you if you’re not careful.
Good post CCL.
I’ll try to open my heart and mind to that. Right now I feel like I’m on the “had a hole eaten right through me” part.
This is going to take a while.
I met her at work. I’d like to say there was something about her the moment I saw her, but there really wasn’t. I wasn’t struck dead by her beauty or left a shivering wreck by the elegance of her smile. But she did intrigue me, if only because she radiated an aura of not being like everyone else. She looked and walked like she didn’t give a shit, but you could tell that she did.
She was interesting.
When I got to talking with her, I found that she was even more. She was smart (almost scarily so) and funny. We laughed at the same things, hated the same things, understood each other’s jokes like no-one else. We soon talked all the time, took breaks together, communicated electronically while working. All day, every day.
A colleague of ours started dropping hints to me that she was in love with me. I still don’t know if he believed it, or was joking, or did it just to mess with me, but it made me see her in a new light. I’d been single for a long time and absolutely hated it. I started thinking that she just might be the answer to my questions.
We were soon sharing pretty openly and she made half-joking references to her “wife” that she’d just divorced. Keep in mind that she was 20 years old; I was pretty sure she’d never actually been married. As we got to know each other better, it became obvious that she’d been with other women, but I didn’t let that get in the way of my dreams.
Then, there was a big office party (at a local castle, no less). We got a big tipsy and started dancing with each other. Dancing a tiny little bit naughtily, some might say. Rumours started going around about us and we loved it. We kept saying “Wanna start some more rumours?” and going back to dancing.
And then, I mentioned to her that to me, it was a bit more to it than rumours. Her reply is pretty much untranslatable, but it concerned how that statement made things awkward. I realised that it was over.
We left the party together and spent three hours on a park bench just talking. At five in the morning we visited a bakery, got a cab for her, hugged, and said goodbye.
That Monday, rumours were buzzing and we revelled in it. It was great. We alone knew what had happened. Sure, it wasn’t much, but it was fun. We kept the rumours going for months, dropping hints, telling jokes, insinuating… it was a blast.
I did my best to avoid falling in love with her, knowing that she didn’t want me, but eventually it became obvious that it was futile. I was in love with her. Another thing that became more and more obvious, although she never said it outright, was that she didn’t like men. Didn’t hurt me any, since she didn’t want me anyway, and at least this way I wouldn’t have to see her with another man.
One day, three months after that party, I complained (without an agenda, believe me) to her about how boring it was to cook for just one’s own self. She said that I could cook for her if I wanted. I jumped on the chance and invited her for dinner that Saturday.
I hadn’t been that nervous… ever. I cleaned the apartment, got rid of the roommate and cooked for her. She arrived and we had a great time, eating, drinking wine, and chatting. I thought we were just friends, although of course I hoped for more. And it happened; suddenly she just kissed me and before I knew it we were naked.
Let’s skip the details. I was very drunk and very nervous. Anyway, afterwards I said “Look, I’ve got to ask. I thought you were a lesbian.” and she answered “So did I”. And that was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
I couldn’t believe it. We never fought. We always had a great time together. We could talk about anything and everything. The sex was wonderful. She was like no-one I’d ever met before.
We hit on some rough times a couple of months ago, but we got through it. We’ve slept together every night for a week, and I almost cry when I realise that I’m going to have to sleep alone tonight. That’s what it’s like. I love her, her friends, her life, her brains, her dogs, everything. It’s something I can’t quite put into words; a warm, fuzzy feeling of contentment. It’s not spectacular, life-shattering, world-shaking or even all that romantic; it’s just really really really really nice.
That’s the short version of my experience with romantic love.
Actually, I am well aware of that anecdote, and knew what you were quoting. My confusion stemmed from my inability to understand what it had to do with this thread!
I’m feelin’ ya there. Honest to goodness, I’ve never been in love. I have loved (and do love) many people, but not in the way you’re discussing.
There are lots of people to whom I’ve said “I love you,” but every one was in a platonic, familial, or off-the-cuff way. Nothing soulful, nothing stirring, nothing truly romantic.
It’s fascinating for me to read the posts in this (wonderful) thread, because I don’t know what it is these people are feeling. It’s like listening to someone describe some exotic food you’ve never tasted. Very mysterious, and very captivating.
shoot, I mucked up, sorry.
OK, you asked for guys’ opinions…
I personally hate the idea that there is this One person with whom we will casually find one day & have this intense metaphysical connection with. Or, at least, find it hopelessly optimistic. I hate that idea because I’ve already met that person, but things haven’t been able to work out with her. That, and she’s also told me I was free not to wait for her, to live my own life. I know that was probably for the best, but it’s still left my cynical about my own chances.
I guess, to use an analogy, love’s like drinking a can of Drano. Sure, it cleans you out, but it’ll leave you feeling hollow inside.
And since I now have an excuse to say it: So Kn*ckers, how YOU doin’? 
Well, thanks, yourself?
I’m wondering why there tend to be fewer male than female responses to questions like the OP’s. I know love and romance are generally considered “girly stuff,” but I can’t quite wrap my head around why that might be… Is it just social conditioning against Manly Men getting all mushy (emotional expression = weakness), or what?