Last night I saw a play called Drunken City, a quiet(ish) little piece about a group of people learning the truth about themselves through the magic of alcohol. And, surprisingly within that unoriginal premise, at its heart are two sweet simple honest declarations of love (or at least declarations of intentions toward love). And I must admit, I was suckercharmed by it. I smiled open-mouthed at the sweetness of it, in a completely unironic un-cynical-twentysomething-New-Yorker way.
Because I gotta admit, I miss that.
Something you should know about me: I'm really very good at being single. I am realizing through conversations with friends and acquaintances that this is not necessarily a common quality. I'm comfortable alone, I don't feel lonely in solitude, and I am a complete person, not dependant for my self-worth on whether some dude likes me or not. I'm not a recluse, by any means, and I like hanging out with friends and flirting and whatnot, but I'm also okay with the other thing.
I miss falling in love. I miss being in love. I miss the sweet comfort of being in a relationship. I do not miss the early stages of dating, or the silly fickleness of so many fellows out there. I do not miss the drama of commitment-phobes and coded messages. But I miss the stuff that makes a goofy grin spread across my face without my realizing it, like it did last night at the show.
I should at this moment make the following disclaimer:
I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner. - Lizzy Bennet (okay, Jane Austen)I do not write this post in hopes that the droves of love-struck men slathering for my attention come pounding at my door with sunflowers and song (though it would be a kind of cool image, until it got creepy). I'm not a sad and lonely little spinster Zelda sitting at home knitting tea cozies (I prefer crochet). I'm also not on the prowl for a hot hookup, roaming the bars of Manhattan with a Blow-Dart-o-Luv in my purse. I do hope that I am at least approaching life with both eyes open and watching, and both hands open in greeting.
I like being me, A girl named Zelda wandering the streets of New York. And occasionally in my wanderings, I have a nostalgia for the good stuff. But I'm patient. Each moment exists as something to be valued.
And so I think of that, and smile. Because it will come again.