Of First Love And Then Some

So I’m going to talk about something tawdry. Like love. I probably have never had more offers to be in a relationship in my life than in the past few weeks. I’m sure I have never had more offers etc. I’d get carried away and agree it’s a good idea and then about 30 minutes later have second thoughts. I really don’t feel like rationalizing. I’ll just tell you of my first love. The pseudo-love-affair. That one was a hoot.

It is the moon. No, my first love wasn’t the moon. It’s the moon that’s got me thinking about my first love. He was in med school. I was just starting at work. And because of his schedule, I would refrain from disturbing him even if I wanted so badly to be with him. Especially during full moons. It’s when I get loony. It’s when I want to sing about how much I like him. When I want to dance circles around him. When I want to shoot the ceiling from being so happy to have found him. I couldn’t. Med school can’t let you do that schedule to the moon’s waxing and waning. I would walk all the way from my building to his apartment. Walking through dark streets. All the while singing all the romantic songs I know. Along the way, I’d cross a bridge spanning a river. Not a very romantic bridge. It’s just ugly. And the river’s all littered with garbage. But in the moonlight, the garbage glimmered. Like the river was sprinkled with diamonds. I’d always bring a coin to throw into the water. Never wishing for anything. I wished for other people. That they would find as much happiness as I had. Then I’d go back to singing. I would only stop singing when I was nearing his place. I’d sit on a side street some ways away from his doorstep and watch his silhouette by the window. Hunched over a book. I’d stay there for a few minutes just being delirious to watch that shadow turning pages of a book and making writing gestures. Then I’d head back for home. Singing again. I remember there would be people looking out their windows, almost waiting for me every night. Nobody shushed me or made fun of me. Nobody shouted for me to shut up. Just a slow opening of the shutters and people sitting by the window. At first they would try to peek which made me try to sing softer. After a while, they just left the windows open. I would only see curtains moving quietly. By the time I got home, I only had enough energy to wash my feet and drop on my bed. The next day, I’d be too tired to wake up for work. We’ll stop now.

So there. I’ve done my time with crazy. With love. With creepy behavior because of being in love. Sadly, it was not reciprocated. But it's love, still. I guess.

I miss that. I miss that elation. I miss that craziness. I miss all that corn. I miss wishing other people the same happiness. I miss having something to sing for. Not just because I love singing.

There is someone I want to sing for. There. Isn’t that a surprise? With cancer and all, I can still manage to make landi. I met him last month at my weekly therapy. He's a doctor that oddly looks like McSteamy. (What's with the medical field that knocks me off? Jeez!) But I can’t drum up the courage to ask him. Me. I’m such a coward. And a hypocrite. Telling myself that I'm still busy getting well. I should probably ask him out to a movie or something. Or something sounds more… Fun.

Soon.