Falling in Slow Motion

Once might have been enough,

perhaps if she had been smart,

but she never had the right taste—

at least when it came to partners.

Her friends laughed at her, teasing,

because "Mr. Right" was always so wrong.

Dates themselves became mine fields

where she didn't know up or down,

just the heavy timbre of their voices

lulling her into a sense of security.

But there was always something amiss—

a gaze that trailed away too often,

a joke that just fell flat on her ears.

Even their smiles weren't quite inviting.

No one seemed to make an impression.

Even the kissing never felt quite right.

But there were glimmers of hope—

or so she led herself to believe.

This guy had a dog (always a plus),

that guy loved to travel (perfect!),

even the last knew how to cook like a chef.

The variables always shifted, all dependent

on the revolving door of men in her life,

but the one thing that never changed

was the fact that she didn't love a one.

No matter how hard she tried,

falling in love was actually quite difficult.

What she would never tell her friends

was how her heart was her own enemy,

fickle and volatile and not too easily pleased.

Her "Mr. Right"? Yeah, sure.

Even the perfect man might not have been enough.

It was too easy to tell herself she was in the wrong.

"Good night," she would tell them all,

and she wouldn't return their calls or texts,

even as she cried to herself after each date.

Falling in love wasn't for ice queens

who wouldn't melt for just anyone.

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