In my entire adult life I have dated 2.1 people who lived in the same city as me. I do not count "singer" because he lived in the East Village while I lived in Queens, and anyone who has taken a ride on the E train under the river in the middle of winter knows that Queens is a different city (or a different planet depending on the condition of your mind).
There was a skinny rocker in Philly. Another in Vegas, which I actually shared an address with once upon a time, although when dealing with the musician type, sharing an address means alot less time sharing a bed then one would think. I suppose that is why I found my self living at another address shortly after that...
I once flew a fella across the country to have a first date with me. (insert pathetic version of keltie here) We met once, and had enough mutual friends on facebook that in my darkest, loneliest moments somehow convinced myself based on his "likes" + charming self-taken bathroom photos in his profile that we were somehow meant to be closer, we weren't.
I dated a very tattoo covered fella name Cole for the blink of a second last year who lived in Venice, which doesn't count either since if I needed to mail him a letter (mostly an apology for falling so deeply in love with the idea of falling deeply in love and basing that decision solely on out joint love of Mexican food) I would have to POST that letter coming from HOLLYWOOD to VENICE. See? different city.
Swoon came to me from down the block, we actually live on the same street but in different areas of LA (it is a very Loooooong street). I made him meet on my end of the street the morning that I left our table at the 101 cafe to walk to the other end of the room to grab a LA weekly and then minutes later over a breakfast of burritos + french toast when he asked me to be his girlfriend, told him, even though I was completely aware of the horrendous feeling in the gut that this was the single worst mistake of my entire life, that I could not be that girl.
Perfect things scare imperfect people.
I tend to run from them.
I ran all the way back down our street.
What I have learned is that, although the time spend across countries, oceans and time zones seems to electrify zee romance in us. Late night texts and whispered good nights, a delicious relationship doesn't make. We tend to purge, obsess, fantasize about the outcomes of seeing these long lost loves again. While I have fallen asleep with phone in hand more times than I care to admit, the amount of clarity that I've learned from these promised and not followed through on words is pretty grand.
Love is someone putting on their combat boots along side you, grabbing your hand when you want to give up and trudging through the muck and mess that (I/we/you) consistently find yourself creating. Love is someone thinking you are gorgeous at every angle. Not just the zexy, perfectly chosen, perfectly lit, possibly retouched version of yourself that you would send another humans personal device.
Love isn't someone writing an epic sentence about loving you forever and hitting send.
Love is about loving you forever.
Right beside you.
ps. and for those of you concerned with the updated condition of my heart, I am currently doing my very best to convince swoon 1)I made the biggest mistake of my life that morning at the 101 2)that this time I will not run, even though at some point of each and everyday I want to.
pps. My amazingly talented friend Lindsay Rosenberg made this insane little movie. Tell your friends. I love it.