On The Run

I am constantly plagued by yearning for someone I don't even know. The yearning comes in waves. Some times gentle, others harsh. It comes in moments of silence. Most often when I'm driving alone. When I am driving alone I am haunted by the spirit of what I can only imagine is my “Twin Flame”. That's particularly “woo woo” to say and to think. It's what I really believe though. However, if I were to step away from my most honest self, I would say that what haunts me in my car is a frankenstein of all the men I love. An imaginary friend of sorts.

He is 6 ft + with dark wavy hair and a big, hooked nose. His skin color varies, but I often imagine him very light skinned. My therapist believes that my choosing very fair skinned partners is my way of making sure I can tell myself that they don't actually look like my father. I suppose I must admit that the only real deviation is the light skin color. He is also almost also “lean” or just plain skinny. Another coping mechanism for my Freudian taste in men. My father has been notably large and muscular my entire life. He looks like a pale, skinny version of my father 😖.

He wears glasses because to me, I cannot quite connect with someone who isn't nearsighted like I am. They will never understand me.

He is a Banana Republic catalogue. Cable knit sweater, dark wash straight denim, and clean sneakers.

He is hairy, so hairy that he thinks nothing of my sideburns that touch my jawline, the hair that grows down my neck, my peach fuzzed back, or my arm hair that I slick down with lotion. I don't want to be rid of all this hair, it's very much part of me and I love it. I want to be around people that are like me.

He's actually driving the cat, not me, he's like my grandfather in that way. He delivers us from place to place in a reasonably priced and reliable vehicle. He knows how to get everywhere too. He doesn't need the gps because he's like my grandpa who even in the late stages of dementia could find his way home. Who taught me to do the same. 

He's like my uncle Shawn, he is naturally good with money. He never buys on impulse and he takes advantage of the best options for credit cards, savings accounts, and investments. He helps me do the same. He always buys things on his American Express or Chase Sapphire and he pays the balance.

Like all 3 of them, he is an excellent businessman that encourages me and my smaller, more delightful businesses. He is enamored by my theatrical productions, made blithe by my work with children, and is a bit chubbier than when we met from eating everything I bake.

He offers great conversation, we talk about everything. He's more rational than me and not so caught up in all the drama of popular culture, he offers level headed responses to all the news I share with him.

He is ideally an Earth sign. My life is overflowing with Water and Air. He is grounded.

And though he has no name or face, he haunts me. He plagues my imagination in times of silence. In my car, as I fall asleep, when I'm walking; he is there. I feel so silly about it. As a child, even as a teenager I did not year for or even want to experience romantic love. It actually was icky to me. Now, in my adulthood, I am obsessed with it. Like some sad, lonely child desperate to play “House” with her friends. It's humiliating