I breathe love as the wind moves the clouds above fields rich in their emerald lushness. I feel it radiate in my heart and shine out through my eyes so full of hope because I love with the force of a thousand armies yet with the softness of my Mama’s arms.
Yet it seems no matter how sweet my kisses are, or how pure my heart, I’m just never the first choice.
It’s not that I make a habit of questioning my worth but it just seems that no one else can read the language of my heart, no matter how many times I bare it.
I thought that once or twice it may happen — that someone would stand up and say that he chose me above all others — but then reality would creep in like the black smoke churning from a midwinter’s fire and I’d be left alone and shaken to my core once again.
Sometimes I was partially chosen, in pieces and bits for those parts of myself that they loved to taste. But regardless of how sweet my smile, or how hot my bare skin burned, no one’s ever stayed and said they wanted more.
Perhaps if I’m honest, I’ll admit that sometimes I’ve wondered if I was simply unloveable — that maybe it was my lot in life to remain without someone to hold me close during the dark nights that sometimes seemed too long.
I doubted my truth and wondered if there was something wrong with me — if I just loved too strongly or too differently. Possibly I was just a little too passionate, or maybe it was just that the fire burned so bright behind my eyes that anyone who dared come close enough feared they’d be burned within the flames.
Yet even on occasions when I’ve wondered what was wrong with me that no one ever chose me, I knew deep down it had nothing to do with me at all.
If I’m being honest, I’ll admit that at times I’ve settled for less than I’ve wanted — just to feel the way a man’s hands got tangled up in my long hair and how intoxicating words slung in sugar could be when they were tossed out underneath the blood moon.
I want to be someone’s first choice so much that I hung onto the men who promised someday, and just not right now, because it was the draw of a potential high that kept me addicted — the lure of having something I’ve never had before.
Yet when days dragged into weeks, and weeks became buried by months, I know that (once again) I wasn’t the first choice. Maybe I wasn’t even the second or the third but really all along it was a secret so seductive it couldn’t ever be whispered aloud.
I know that maybe it was just that I was in a different category all together — that perhaps I’m not the typical girlfriend type and that wives aren’t supposed to look or act like me — and so, maybe it was just that none of these men ever truly knew what to do with me.
Yet, even though none of them ever chose me, even fewer could stay away for good.
It’s painful not being good enough to be seen out dancing underneath the streetlights together or sharing a glass of wine as the sun dipped below the horizon — yet once the moon rose high, it seemed there wasn’t any other place these men wanted to be.
If it had just been about sex all of the time, then it might have been easier for me to barricade my door to these men once and for all — but it often was not.
I know that I touched a special place in each of these men, but perhaps it was too electrifying or too deep, because regardless of how they cared for me or what an amazing woman they think I am — I just am not the type to be their first choice.
It hurt me — more than I’ll ever admit — to have cared so deeply for these men, who in the end pretended as if they barely knew me, those that made it seem so effortless to walk away from me and my soft brown eyes that show nothing but truth. But I’m used to this role, and so it was one that I knew how to play brilliantly — that is, until I lost the ability to pretend that it didn’t matter.
Because once I took off the shrug of my shoulders and a full toss of my hair, all I was left with was a cold lonesome bed — and as I would crawl beneath the heavy down comforter, I would wonder how a bed so full of life and pleasure could ever be left as frigid and empty as the one I occupied.
For a long while I pretended that it didn’t hurt — and I just simply chose myself, thinking that at least I could put myself first, even if no one else could.
While I found happiness once again, and became impassioned about the way the moonlight radiated off my skin and how the sunrise always seemed to understand, I realized that just because I had chosen myself, it didn’t mean that I still didn’t long to be someone else’s first choice too.
I don’t doubt my worth anymore and instead I know that it’s just going to take someone truly spectacular to understand the song my heart sings.
I know that he is out there somewhere, wishing for a woman exactly like me — and that when we finally do meet, nothing about me will scare him. Except maybe the thought of losing me.
“I just want to be someone’s first choice. Not second, or third, or someone they only want to keep as a secret on the side. But someone’s first choice.” ~ Whisper