Hopeless

The other day, I posted a quote on my Facebook page, “One thing I learned in life: Once your heart has been broken you can still love someone, one piece at a time.”

Ever since I was a little girl, I believed in love.  Love at first sight.  Movie love. The kind of love where the boy tells the girl that not loving her is just not an option.  The kind of love where the boy gets down on one knee and asks the girl to please spend the rest of her life making his better.  The kind of love where a kiss makes your legs quiver and your vision blurred.  The kind of love where you renew your vows in Rome.  The kind of love where you hold hands in the movies, after 40 years.

Then my heart broke, and not just one time.  The more I opened it, the more it bled until it hurt to move.  I did what most women do.  It must be me.  If I were prettier, or thinner, or liked his friends more, this never would have happened.  If I could make his family see in me what he sees in me, we’d be happier.  If I gave birth to two gorgeous kids, that would make it alright.  If I didn’t question the obvious signs that something was wrong, those signs would go away on their own.  Why did he stop wanting me?  Why?

Why do we do that???????!!!   It has taken me this long to figure some things out.  I’m a late bloomer ;-).

It’s not me.  I am super awesome.

Definition of hopeless:

  • Having no hope; despairing.
  • Offering no hope; bleak.
  • Incurable.
  • Having no possibility of solution; impossible.

My name is Diana, and I am a hopeless romantic.  There is no hope to change me.  My outlook is bleak. I am incurable, and there is no possibility of a solution.  I am so completely worthy of what I want, and I don’t want to hear it’s not realistic.  It IS realistic because I have faith in the power of love, of romance, of desire and of fate.  I believe in roses and kissing for hours. I believe in 1am ice cream in bed, naked with ESPN Sportscenter on in the background.  I believe in post it notes in their lunch, and hand scrawled messages of love in the steam of the bathroom mirror.

As I sit here contemplating the possibilities of my life, I go to my favorite poet, Pablo Neruda.  I am certain he was, like I, hopeless because we just know no other way.

I
do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of
carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be
loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.I love you as the
plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden
flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the
earth, lives darkly in my body.I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or
pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I
does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my
hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

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About Diana F

California girl who never imagines she would decide to start her life all over again at this stage of her life but I just know it's going to be epic.
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