“Sometimes, I miss
That feeling of falling
Falling on over the ledge…”
There was a blood moon last night. It was a “super-blood-moon-eclipse,” to be exact. No wonder I felt like howling.
As I walked home from a blessedly date-free dinner (with myself) through my Brooklyn nabe, the corners were crowded with sky-gazers. The moon had all but disappeared in the eclipse and clouds, so instead, I gazed at the onlookers: a few families, but at that late hour, mostly couples, clinging to each other as they waited for the moon to reemerge from Earth’s shadow.
It used to be so easy, I thought.
I never used to wonder if I’d ever fall in love again. I just took it for granted, and why shouldn’t I? For years, it seemed like I was always falling, over and over again, one after another; my relationships like dominoes. That’s right: I was a love-klutz, in love with love, always stumbling and falling into something—or someone—new.
But as most klutzes know, falling is a dangerous business that sometimes leaves permanent scars. It’s now been many years since I’ve fallen. At times, I wonder if I’ve forgotten how.
Or perhaps, I’ve just been playing it too safe. Maybe I’ve become so adept in the art of self-protection that I now step over the cracks; I hold onto railings; I look before I leap.
Hell. These days, I don’t leap at all.
But the thing about intentionally casually dating—at least for me—is that it actually magnifies the lack of intimacy. Sometimes, it feels as if my own detachment is sitting there with us at the table, daring me to care enough to step out on the ledge again. Do I dare fall? Can I, even if I want to?
I was thinking this on Saturday night, while out again with “The Bro/Beau”. It was another lovely date with a perfectly lovely guy who does almost everything right; but four dates in, I can’t imagine it going much further. He’s intelligent, consistent, kind, and considerate—even a good kisser. And yet, I’m still keeping my distance; and again, I’m thinking:
It used to be so easy.
So, what’s the problem, Mai? Am I just making this harder than it has to be? If it’s safety and stability I’m looking for, it seems—even at this early stage—that he’d be a great candidate: the proverbial chest I claim to want to lay my head upon; an undeniably strong set of arms to catch me, should I actually feel like falling. But, I don’t.
I am craving the ledge again. Suddenly, in spite of all of my carefully curated self-protection, I’m missing that feeling of falling—fast and hard and deep into someone—and hopefully, vice versa.
As much as I like him, at the moment, I’m having a difficult time envisioning that someone as The Bro/Beau. And, for all I know, he feels the same ambivalence. Maybe I’m reading him all wrong. Maybe he’s just biding his time, just in case sex is still an option (after all, there are worse consolation prizes).
Whatever it is, I should probably thank him, because though I may not be feeling “the spark” with him, the absence of it is sparking something I haven’t felt in a very, very long time.
Or, maybe it’s just the moon.