A Soft Sort of Sadness

This kind of snowfall

There’s a phrase that I’ve used over and over in my writing, probably ad nauseum, and it’s “a soft sort of sadness”. I like the sibilance of it (especially when I say it out loud. I’m a bit of a lisper with S.) The phrase to me sounds like the feeling, as if sadness is that type of snow that falls in heavy flakes and in pure silence. It’s a sadness that is not all consuming, but comforting somehow, in an artistic-I’m-alone sort of way.

I feel this soft sort of sadness today and most days when I think, really think, about dating. And it isn’t dating necessarily that I mean. I mean when I think about the kind of relationship I want…and that soft sort of sadness? It’s a longing. An ache. An awareness that I do not have the love in my life that I so richly want…and I feel…I deserve.

What I want is simple. I want someone to look at me and love me for who I am. I want them to light up when they see me. I want conversations, and silence, and passion, and above all, I want trust. I want love in the little things. I want to make him breakfast sometimes. I want him to play with my hair, especially when I’m stressed. I want text messages just because he’s thinking about me. And I want those kisses, those kind of kisses that start small and end with an ache so palpable you feel it in the entirety of your body. I want real, honest, true 100% love.

I don’t think I’ve ever had it.

I think I’ve felt it, once. Nearly felt it twice. I think someone has felt it for me. But it’s never been at the same time. And I seem to attract men in my life who feel all these things, but they feel them for someone else, and ultimately, I become someone they can talk to, share with, but it never progresses beyond that.

I had a conversation with someone on the phone last night, someone I would very much like to know, but I’m afraid it’s another soft sort of sadness. One should not read Pablo Neruda poems alone or they will quote things like “Tonight I can write the saddest lines” or “Another’s. He will be another’s.” See? I’m quoting right now.

I don’t have a great epiphany right now except to say that I am finally buying a house (this will connect. Just go with me on this). My whole life, I have drifted from place to place, experience to experience, and what I’ve secretly yearned for was a home. I will have that physical place soon, that place that is undeniably mine. I guess I’m looking for another home too, and forgive me in being corny, but it’s the kind of home you find with another person. That kind of comfort where you feel loved and honored, and you can sit on the couch together, nestled next to each other, so comfortable you don’t really know where one stops and the other begins. That kind of home where you just feel that anything that happens in your life, you will be okay because there is someone there with you, watching out for you.

Yep. That’s what I want. I think it’s pretty simple, and at the same time, it seems to me to be absolutely impossible.

That sadness? Still here. Soft and cool…but maybe like the snow, it’s not permanent.

7 Comments »

  1. n0mia said,

    February 3, 2010 @ 9:50 am

    You and I were sisters once, long ago; I’m certain of it.
    I’ll have to show you some of my own writings on the ideas of belonging, home, reciprocity and that one special person who makes it all fit together the way it is meant to.

    You are far too amazing for the universe to match you up with someone ordinary. The person meant for you is just as extraordinary and passionate as you are and he is sitting out there someplace wondering where you are and when he’ll be lucky enough to find you.

    Real magic takes time.

  2. admin said,

    February 3, 2010 @ 10:56 am

    Oh, Nomia, that’s the sweetest comment ever. Thanks for saying that. I love the idea that real magic takes time. I’m trying to be patient. :) I’d love to read your work too. Anytime.

  3. Brandon T. David said,

    February 3, 2010 @ 7:29 pm

    Ummm Ditto!

    Love helps you forget the pain you feel when you are alone
    Helps you forget the times that were not so good
    Helps you forget the wars being fought
    Helps you forget where you are
    Right now I remember all of these things

    by me 1996

  4. admin said,

    February 4, 2010 @ 11:23 am

    Brandon…1996! Oh no!! Honestly, though, I probably have some of the same poems from the same time. Tender hearts, I guess. :)

  5. Brandon T. David said,

    February 5, 2010 @ 7:54 am

    Yeah 96′ was my poetry year. Sad, lonely, and now that I look back at it, pretty much a defining moment, but…

    …2010 is going to be my happy year, dammit! All I need is some work, a cell phone, and a make out session every once in awhile. Is that too much to ask?

  6. admin said,

    February 5, 2010 @ 8:43 am

    Well, Brandon, I can probably help you out with one of those things. Ha!!!

  7. Brandon T. David said,

    February 5, 2010 @ 10:36 am

    HA HA

    The cell phone right? LOL

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