The last thing a writer wants to be is a cliche. We avoid writing cliches like they are destined to drag us down into the depths of some literary hell where we won't be able to breathe or live or worse yet, write.
Sadly, it seems that I have become a cliche. As much as I would like to deny it. As much as I would like to say, "No, I could never be one of those girls." It appears that I have. I have become the embodiment of a lover scorned, right up there with the likes of Hamlet. As upsetting as it is, at least it reminds me that I have a heart and a soul. That I am able to feel things. That I have the ability to dream and imagine even if it causes me some pain.
I guess it isn't really the cliche that bothers me. It is more the fact that I feel that I was powerless to do anything about it and if you know anything about me, I hate not having at least a little control over what happens to me. But the thing I detest the most about the scorned lover cliche is that I cannot stop thinking about the person and, to be honest, it really sucks.
I would love to be one of those people who is able to cast off a person who "wronged" me. To cry about it, eat some chocolate, talk about how I could do better and move on. But it appears that particular attitude is just not in my nature. I seem to hold on to the feelings and the emotion of the whole thing, trying to will a dead thing back into life just by coaxing it out of its hermitage. But, at this point, I really wish that I could just leave it, let it die in its cowardliness, not will it to become the beautiful thing I think I know it can be.
Maybe I am the only person who thinks like this. Maybe I have read too many books and listened to too many songs. Maybe they have given me a false sense of reality. But maybe it is because I am just not heartless. Maybe it is the fact that I have a heart that makes me not want to let go. Its like I want to love something or someone until they realize how amazing they are. That they deserve to be loved and thought of as extraordinary. Maybe that is the very reason relationships seem to continue to slip through my fingers. Maybe after I show someone love, they become strong enough to leave me. Strong enough to go out into uncharted waters. Strong enough to not need me. It is also quite possible that I am being waaaaay too overdramatic and that I just can't let go because I am stubborn and relationships keep not working because I am too weird or clingy or whatever, but I don't know. A girl can dream, right?
At some point I am going to forget. At some point we are all going to forget and we are all going to be forgotten. We like to think that we are immortal, that someone will always remember us. That we are going to make a difference. But history seems to tell otherwise.
To me, it is only important if I am able to change one person's life for the better. I want to find a man who needs me. Like actually needs me and wants me and treasures me and most of all, just lets me love him. I don't think it is unrealistic to want someone to think of you first thing in the morning and last thing at night. For me, I have one in mind who I do that to and over time, it will most likely change. But I learned something yesterday, why deny yourself the simple pleasures in life? Why deny yourself loving someone? I don't care if he becomes one of my scars, because I learned a while ago to love my scars, because they each have their own beautiful story.
People's lives get tangled up and create love, pain, joy and sadness. But they all leave a mark. So he is going to be one of my scars. But I am not going to deny myself the simple pleasure of loving him. Because love, even unrequited love, is better than no love at all.
"It's a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them - and they simply don't need you. That's all there is to it, and neither of you can do anything about it. And they'll be the same way with someone else, and someone else will be the same way about you and it goes on and on - this desperate need - and only once in a rare million do the same two people need each other." - The Small Rain, Madeleine L'Engle Page 161
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