Love poem: Why can't I find my wife?

365 texts love self-knowledge

Goal of the day: 201 words. Written: 445.

This text was originally written on 16 December 2015. Now, a year later, I may have met the right person for me. However, now is a good time to wipe this text clean, dust it off and let it go. This is my short ode from a time when I felt lost within myself.



They call me that: Romance.

Although I'm the only one who knows how to press the buttons, I have no desire to do so.

Romantic: I sometimes call myself that.

It's easy to call yourself that when it's the easiest excuse for your fantasies.

* * *

Who am I?

What do I want?

And why, forgive me for this trite question, can I never find the right wife for me?

The choices for your wife are many. But where is the one that fuels the endless urge to push buttons?

* * *


It's easy to call yourself that.

When it's an excuse for our fears, our waiting, our doubts.

"Does she like me?"

"Am I writing to her too much?"

"Is it good that I dedicate letters like the one you are reading now?"

"Should I keep doing what I'm doing? Or should I stop?"

"Is she with me? Are we on our way? Does she feel for me what I feel for her?"

What should I do?

* * *

Pushing the buttons is... Pushing the buttons. Sometimes literally - the back bone, giving a massage on a beach. Or in bed. Or on the floor.

Pushing buttons is a whole series of actions we do for ourselves and for other people.

Button 1: Greeting. Calm, bold and direct.

Button 2: Communication. Lots of. About anything, but preferably about the environment. Everybody likes to gossip about other people. Extra points if there's a wedding nearby. That's probably the best topic for conversation.

Button 3: Taking a hand. Push. Niux to the side. Tap on the back. Patting the jaw. Kick to the forehead. Dance together.

Button 4: An invitation to do something fun together. Or rather, fun for you. Because what's the point of doing something you don't enjoy?

Button 5: Kiss. On the jaw, on the lips, on the forehead, on the back, on the neck. It doesn't matter. Because the first push of the button only opens up possibilities, it doesn't limit them.

Button 6: The repetition of it all. Because maybe it was just a one-off faux pas? Let's try again.

Button No. ...

And so on, and so on.

Buttons. Press the combination to get what you want.

* * *

But why don't I sometimes feel that desire?


Am I afraid of being intrusive? Bold? First? Taking on something when I can't see if I'm expected and/or wanted to? Or have I just not met the right wife for me?

Perhaps these are the ones I accept. These candidates... Are they not REALLY suitable?

...I don't know.

* * *

I do not know.


* * *

I'm scared.

* * *

But I want to love.

I want to make love.

I want to communicate.

I want to touch.

I want to be touched.

I want all the fantasies and things I so often dream about.

Like a romantic.

* * *


Maybe I am?

Scary, but maybe?

And why can't I find my wife?

Your man?

* * *

Questions. There are more questions in my life than answers.

Although I seem to have created a whole blog about answering and answering questions.

You see how it is.

I don't see it.

Quietly singing to itself,

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