Sexy potential irony

It’s a funny concept to fall in love with potential.  It’s like a fantasy, of sorts.  You have this vision of who someone will become before they actually become that person, psychic really.  So there you are, miserable, dating potential.  Waiting…working…challenging…molding…potential.  It’s not an easy process.  It’s grueling, draining, and never works out, but you work away.  There’s nothing more tragic than loving someone who had yet to love themselves, and likely by the time they do realize they’re worthy of your love…you’ll have given it to someone else.

I’ve done it.  You’ve probably done it.  Hopefully, you didn’t do it twice.  In retrospect it’s such a stupid thing to do, isn’t it?  Maybe being friends with potential is much better than dating it…less expectations and no openings for disappointments, or at least not as many openings.  Back in my ‘but-you-don’t-know-them-the-way-I-do’ days…when all my friends realized before I did that I was in one of those dating-potential-relationships…I was convinced that I could change the person.  Convinced.  I knew better than anyone else how much potential this person had.  It was later that I realized it was a trait I have and may always have, but one that was only detrimental to the unformed me. 

Ironic, isn’t it?  Someone you spend so much energy trying to change into who they will become.  So much heartache.  So many tears.  So much of your soul you gave away to perfect another for someone else.  Someone else that experiences the reality of your fantasy.  Bittersweet, nah.  In the long run you’re better off because they were dating potential too.

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