Action speaks louder than words. I’ve probably said that more than I’ve ever proved it. Here I am writing so much about love and finding that something special, that something real, and continue to let it slip through my fingers. From the outside looking in it looks like I’m just another hopeless romantic. When in reality I’m nothing but a fool.
I can talk a good game. I’m sure there’s some people who can tell you that. As much as I so desperately crave having someone by my side though this crazy game of life, I do nothing to help myself capture it. I’ve been lucky enough to find that something that makes you puke in the middle of the day just because of them being upset sickens your stomach. That special something that makes even a twin bed feel too big to be sleeping in alone.
Yeah maybe I help clean her apartment, open the doors for her when I can, and never let her walk on the street side of the sidewalk, but how much of a gentleman does that make me? What does my actions say when we go out together and I get too drunk and leave her phone less and alone in the city?
How much of a gentleman am I? I can write about love, like it’s something I always dream about, but when it becomes real and tangible, why do I forget how to be a man? All I want is to have someone by side. That special something that you can’t sleep without and I had it. Slowly I’m shooting myself in the foot, raising all the red flags, watching her slip through my fingertips.
All I want is her, and it’s at the point where the words don’t mean anything unless there’s some action behind it. Otherwise what they hell am I even writing about if I can’t be the man I’ve perceived myself to be. I’d just be a liar like the rest of us.
What do I bring to the table aside from red flags? Am I actually a man or am I just another fraud