It struck me recently, reading one of the news items on TBW that a lot of the problems in relationships of any kind, are expectations. That question which habitually creeps up on the messages on the site, you know the one. …..What are you looking for?
I thought I knew what it was I WANTED………after two years of dramatic pot boiling love with my Italian lover lover, perhaps I needed someone older, more stable, with children already, so the dreaded baby question never reared up. Perhaps someone supportive, solvent, willing to travel and share a future with me.?
Yep………….who was I kidding? I‘m a poet for chrissakes……..
Anyway as I’ve found out over the years the Universe usually does chuck up what one has asked for in some shape or form though maybe not exactly what one had been hoping for.
Cut to …….along comes,
Mr Nice Guy……..
Mr N.G. is late thirties, solvent with two small children from a bitter divorce, which he appeared to be handling rather well, the divorce that is. (I had the feeling that he was trying too hard with the children and desperately in search of someone child friendly to share them with. ) He has a high powered computerish job in the city which brings in the dosh, very high IQ, but no culture. That means no real idea about Art, Music, Literature, doesn’t read books, and after a couple of dates I had the feeling that he was upwardly mobile……..for that I kind of fitted his brief.
To start with we dated, and dated , and dated??????? Not even a good night kiss…….Why? I don’t honestly know, he is handsome in a 6’0 foreign kind of way, although he was brought up in the UK. We fancied each other; he kept saying he was flattered that I was considering going out with him…..Yeh Well!!
No big deal, the sex when it finally did come along was fine, more than fine, good even, but I wasn’t in love with him. That was it really in a nutshell, I tried to convince myself that it was all ok, that we were going to set sail into a world of shared houses, businesses, holidays ,children……….
But when I went away I didn’t miss him, when I saw him I didn’t want to rip his clothes off ……..and when he snored I didn’t want to lie awake and look at him, I just wanted to sleep in another room. Maybe if he hadn’t fallen so quickly under my spell, if he had been a little bit more mysterious and less perfect, the conventional idea of perfect…….maybe?
Maybe nothing, if I ‘m not in love I just can’t see the point really, I like my own company and that of my friends more than mediocrity with a man. Although he ticked all the sensible boxes in my head, he didn’t tick any of the emotional boxes in my heart and suddenly this poet couldn’t write any more.
End of story.
So all you lovely men out there, please don’t ask me what I am looking for, I have no idea. If it doesn’t involve huge leaps of my heart and rushes of adrenaline when I see you, then it’s obviously not for me.
The trouble with poets is they are hard wired for love or solitude………and nothing in between.
By Victoria Mosley (Siren Song) has two collections of poetry available from Amazon .co.uk The Dry Season (1998) Crazy Love (2002) and a cd downloadable from www.gargeband.com/artist/sublimes . She is currently editing her novel Angels Wharf., and researching her latest novel. News @ www.zenoliteraryagency.com
