Vespers in gloaming light

A thought at dinner with someone I thought I liked

I looked out the window and thought this: “Am I the barometer for these men to find out if they can love?”
I get even the hardest of cases at my door, knocking with hat in hand, weaving me stories and I invite them in. 
I can love anyone if I find something special about them. And there is always something special. The way their bottom lip looks when they write something down, the far away gaze as they tell a hard story, the smile that starts on the left side of a face and moves to the right. A pair of hands. A set of long eyelashes or a good joke or a great hug. Finding someone lovable, for me, is easy. So I invite them in. And they sit at my table and they drink my tea and they promise me they’ve never felt this way before and then just when I’ve made them a place to stay, they leave.
They’ve decided that the very thing they thought was so betwitching is now a curse. They don’t like the temperature. 
So they blame me. And they go, they take what they’ve taken with them. 
And leave me with the dishes.
They must come here thinking “if I can’t love her then who?” Because I have pretty hair. And a good face. And strong shoulders to bear up the heavy stuff and strong hands to hold on to something slipping away. I’m fun, and free and smart and ready and paying attention. So it’s not love, it’s a science experiment.
Weather changes. It gets icy and snowy between us and I am blamed for the cold snap, I must have cursed them with this thunderstorm. I must purposefully be calling down hail in their life. The same one who praised me for finally bringing spring to him, left me when winter came.
I need a four season guy. One who will withstand the surgery sweetness of July in its boiling heat and the drudgery of the March mud.
They go back into the world from my door smug, I’m sure they feel wistful about loving a beautiful woman and so brave that they left. 
These men all want a simple life. I’ve heard that weather report before.
They want a simple life; which means they simply don’t want me.
I am not the place you go to see how another climate feels. If you don’t want the pressure and growth and humidity and ice and wind and sun that comes with magic, then get out.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.