I prefer to say I’m single by choice. But I think we all know that is just a tiny bucket of manure. I’m single because I’ve never met the other puzzle piece.

Okay no, that is also a spoon full of crap.

I don’t know why I’m single. I don’t really think about it too much because I’m happy and because while I’ve dated a boy in high school and a few at varsity, I’ve only ever had one proper relationship. And it ended in 2004…

A car accident has taken from me what I’ve come to tell myself was ‘my one true love’. Of course I have no idea if it really was so, because ours was a wonderful friendship that became something more but was never pursued long enough to be awarded the designation: true love. Since his death I’ve never felt the desire to date or to be with someone or to do away with impending loneliness. My friends tell my I shut down flirtation like a 30 ton steel door falling down on an earthworm. I just haven’t met anyone that blows up the ol’ dress, you know?

So for 16 years I’ve been by myself. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve grown so used to my life that I’ve started to love the pile of shit, but I’ve not missed relationships. I miss more money and chocolate and cheaper vacation spots and for running to become fun, but I’ve not missed relationships. I guess I simply don’t know what I’m missing out on…

A friend of mine forced me to watch a few episodes of The Outlander because apparently she is going to marry the lead actor and she wanted me to meet her future husband. At the centre of the story is a scorching love story that didn’t at the time remind me of stories like Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey and now I’m wondering why it didn’t.

It’s very hard for me to imagine romantic emotion so encompassing and profound that it moves and changes people. The examples of romantic love that I observed growing up wasn’t exactly ideal. I can’t remember looking at any of the couples around me and thinking: ooh bananas, I want that! My parents’ marriage was my dad drinking and my mom suffering for it.

No. Thank. You.

But there was one strange exception. My mom’s sister was a wild and fiery woman who was tamed only by one man: a specialist police officer in my country’s version of the SWAT unit. They were wild together and to an introverted, boring little square like myself, they often seemed more like human versions of something that could cause natural disasters and take dozens of lives. I was a kid then but I remember liking the idea that even someone completely different can find someone with whom they fit like they were from the same food group. And I remember thinking how wonderful it must be to have someone that will be on your side…no matter what…

Not long after their baby girl’s birth, he was shot to death. My aunt shrunk from gale force human to barely there. It’s been almost 30 years since his passing and she’s still haunted by dreams of him and she yearns for him like he took something valuable of hers when he left.

All that short term love, only to be condemned to long term devastation…

I suppose The Outlander got me thinking about these things. I don’t understand any of it. It seems grossly exaggerated. In my own life I’ve managed to keep myself alive, even happy, but I’m not completely oblivious…I can imagine what a warm, magical thing it must be to meet someone who ‘fits’. Someone to rage with. Someone to rage for. But then comes the realities of life and people and the nagging little bitch-ass voice that maybe I don’t deserve love.

Anyway, all these stories of burning passion and explosive yearning and unwavering devotion seem like science fiction to me. I’m just a little curious as to its effect on relationships? Does it create expectations? Or is that exactly the point? To lift love up to where everyone can stare up at it in awe and use it to fill holes in lives and loves. Does it help to alleviate loneliness in relationships?

Like we’ve established, I have no idea. And frankly I’ve got a chococino to show love to and another episode of Forensic Files to finish. So I’m done thinking of this…

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