the syntax of things

I am told that once upon a time there was such a thing as courtship- that men, at one time in history, actively participated in the pursuit of women. They made efforts to get to know a woman, treat her with kindness and respect, cultivating a relationship with sound foundation even before any romantic intimacy ensued. I am told that such behavior did in fact exist and I understand that once upon a time women were truly valued in the realms of romantic relationships. We were seen as sweet, endearing, beautiful creatures worthy of affection, attention, respect, and effort. Women were courted.

Granted, I can appreciate that such practices and traditions are seen as antiquated today. Perhaps they do not coincide with the modern day woman's ideals and philosophies of strength, independence, and self sufficiency. Yet, I'd like to know what practices the men of today engage in and are they really working for them? Because, well, they're not working for me.

I have been in love once in my life. Truly in love. I was 15. And 16. And 17.
Somewhere around 21 I stopped being in love with him and at 22 realized that I'd perhaps spent much of that time being in love with an idea rather than an actuality. At 23 I've had a few lovely beginnings. But I've yet to truly be in it. I've yet to actually be in love and know what it is to be loved by someone else. I've yet to be in it. (And that's okay: I'm young, I realize this...there's ample time.)

And in the place of real experience I hold onto past memory like a box full of love letters kept in a trunk at the foot of my bed. I escape into the fictional realms of other worldly love and the fantastical day dreams I create frequently. I live vicariously through the details and stories of girlfriends and even strangers, holding onto the hope that the universe will one day pay it forward.

I suppose I am what many may call a hopeless romantic. I kid that I was born in the wrong era. I crave courtship. But more so I think it's about finding that soul who so beautifully responds to yours. It's about finding someone who's just as strange and complex and surprising. It's about allowing someone to see you with your morning face because you know they're going to dive into every conversation and thought and ideal and belief you express no matter how seemingly small or trivial. They exist...these people. And perhaps this is what our 20s are for: weeding out the immature, the lazy, the clueless... the jerks. All so we can make it one step closer to those other lost souls of earlier eras who wound up in the 21st century too.

Maybe hopeful romantic is more appropriate.

These days I wake up and read e.e. cummings before climbing out of bed. Sometimes I read to myself, other times I like to hear the feel of the words on my tongue and the sounds that resonate in the air long after they've been whispered. Today's poem could not be more appropriate (and it's for Shea, whom I know loves this piece too...):

28

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all the flowers. Don't cry
-the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis


Until next time friends,

Lizbeth