They speak of "type" and as a girl, I often wondered what's mine?
Felt somehow alien from the glorified boys of the silver screen that my peers so idolized. I liked Brad Pitt for a time, though now I wonder if I liked him for being handsome or because he was old.
As I began my forays into the "dating world" (which is really the chaos of the normal world that we pretend to lay to some order), I kept my eyes peeled for him. My type. I searched in vain my shirtsleeves, trying to remember where they'd printed his measure that I might know him by. Wondering how I could forget so easily.
Through the next few years, I worked out a pattern of falling for men who would not have attracted me. Which isn't to say they didn't. I'll catch glimpses of former lovers in strangers off the street and suppress a shudder, even now. There is pleasure in the imprint of these men, which makes it hard to trust myself. If I can fall for so-and-so, I'm apt to love anyone.
I watch my friends, as we grow, develop steady patterns. Similar cheekbones from one boy-man to the next. Likely chests. They seem to instinctively know what's attractive for this era. What sorts of men are fashionable.
I find myself navigating by touch. Blind in certain respects. Heedless. Weak. I thought I would've defined a "type" by now, yet it seems the more of them I love, the more my desire grows. There is a certain sense of broadness to my loving.
I become obsessed with men who, only the week before, would have meant dirt to me. I find each leaves a mark. Catch myself amiable and nice to strangers for the sole reason that they resemble other men in my past that I wasn't slated to love in the first place.
It's curious, what shapes attraction. Not only do my own desires surprise me, but they go and dictate what I find attractive for years to come. And if it was just that, I'd worry I'm secretly just hungering for the past, but the list grows steadily. Instead of the features of attraction becoming more defined, they expand and multiply. It's not saying I like this kind of hair. This kind of mouth. But rather, if I can love these, what else out there is worth loving?
On mornings like these, I feel obscenely greedy.
Have I no shame, to think all love on this earth is mine for the taking? And I'd like to play good, except I don't. And it is. I'll leave somebody else to pray for me.
This entire album, from start to finish, is fantastic. You should listen to "Skirty" and "Living with Strangers" for a more badass vibe, but I woke up with this stuck in my head, so here we are.
Not much of a fan of the original song, but this seems pretty damn cool to me.
Doesn't really need words.
I figured since it's Tuesday, I'd log in my three for the week for @ablaze's #threetunetuesday. I never know what to write with these, so I serve up consistent rambles.
