mr. nice girl

i think i've finally figured out my life. to some extent or another.

reference previous "it" entry. "it" being love. a relationship. a companion. someone to come home to. someone to come home to me. a touch here. a glance there. someone to look at me like i'm crazy when i open my mouth and something...crazy...rolls out. someone to share with me the things that i love. someone to teach me about their loves. someone to put my arms around and save when their world is fucked beyond control.

i want that. i need that. and it's not gonna happen. i've come full circle with this bastard emotion. i'm stung by it twice. it won't get a third chance to charm me.

but i'm gonna be ok with that. or at least i'm gonna make myself be ok with it.

i have come to the realization that i am afflicted with "mr. nice guy" syndrome. but i'm a girl, so i'm "mr. nice girl". not really an oxymoron... i'm the girl that's funnier than shit. i'm such a sweet heart (beneath my bitch-trog exterior that people see if i don't choose to let them see anything else). i'm the girl who will listen if you're sad. or happy. or pissed. or excited...i'll share in all those emotions with you. need money for gas to get back and forth to work till payday? chances are i'll give it to you if i have it. need a favor? i'll be happy to help if i can. i'm special. i'm wonderful. i deserve to have someone and be happy. so i'm told.

but at the end of the day, i drive home by myself. to be by myself. to wonder why i'm not good enough. or lucky enough. always the nice guy who's never right for anyone.