Why I Always Went For Men I Knew Weren’t Right For Me

I think I’ve always taken to men that weren’t fit for me and I think I did it because I knew intuitively that being wrongly in love was deeply purposeful, if not paramount to a life of blazing reverie and significance.

I don’t feel like this was crass or entirely conscious but did I move unwisely into love with intention? I think so.

The thing is I never wanted a Prince Charming. I didn’t even want to believe in him. I wanted something terrible. Something wrong. Something I couldn’t desire. Something I’d have to finally reject.

Maybe it had something to do with always feeling like I needed a reason to go after life first, and then welcome in the love of the right man. Like the solo journey was reserved for the sad or the freak. Maybe I was afraid that I’d become either of the two and soon grow comfortable living a shell of a life.

Maybe it’s that I always felt like I would need some spectacular reason, permission, perhaps, to take a breath and travel through my hours free of anyone on my mind, any man, any saving grace or fallback plan.

God, I think I just knew that eventually I was going to need to be my only option.

I think I loved recklessly because I didn’t know it was okay to be motivated by innocence alone.

Perhaps this sounds delirious, even aggressive. Who would intentionally go after unfit lovers, know they were setting themselves up to feel wronged by love?

I’d like to think it’s the ones who wind up greatly in love.

I’d like to think it’s the brave.

I’d like to think one day I’ll comfortably be one of those. For now though I’m just a girl whose taken the back roads, who fled the party to find herself.

I’m a girl after wholeness.

Because I know that one day I want to stand in one place and look into the eyes of one man and be able to believe in us, wholeheartedly believe and feel, feel like everything I have is just right. And I know that to have all that I’ll need to be wherever I am, thinking of nothing more and nothing less.