This is how my heart behaves...

what does it mean to have a great love?

is it heart-pounding in your ears nervousness? is it sweaty palms? is it moments of sheer euphoria? is it mutual? is it unrequited? does it come with crippling sadness? is it every moment of every day? is it conscious? is it deliberate? is it sickening? is it considerate? is it always? is it ever boring? is it found racing in your veins? is it always novel? is it beautiful?

is it the kind of love fairy tales are made of? 

I, of all people, should know better. I call myself a cynic, a pessimist, and I am fully aware of the reality of life. And yet I still am, at my best, a ridiculously hopeless--and I mean hopeless--romantic. I won't hardly admit aloud that I like the idea or soulmates--of the idea that two people were made entirely for one another, of destiny, of happily-ever after and all that (I know, I cringe as I read this too).

The worst part of life for people like me, and all you sick romantics, is we are constantly measuring our relationship against the impossible knight in shining armour, Mr. Perfect, or, as I like to call him, Mr. Darcy. 

Because...whether we admit it to ourselves, or whether we wear our hearts on our sleeves for the whole world to see... we want that great love. I want that heart-stopping kind of love, those ever illusive moments where something far greater than yourself just overwhelms you and makes you a part of something cosmic and instinctive and awe-some. 

So can people like me ever have normal relationships? Sure, I can say that I know the difference between whats real and whats ideal, but that doesn't mean I won't still have expectations or fantasizes inspired by my own Mr. Darcy of what I want out of relationships and what I want from anyone I'm with. Don't get me wrong, I'm not dressing up in period costume or purposely trying to create moments of romantic comedies. And I know I shouldn't, because it's incredibly unfair, but  I can't help but think...

is this the way it's supposed to be?

Is this my great love? Is this it?

oh, perish the thought. the whole point of Mr. Darcy is that he IS ideal. He is perfect. He is flawless. He lives in a world that is controlled solely by me and my thoughts and my wants and needs. He can always be everything I need. He never fails me. But the boyfriends of the reality kind are a bit different. They have flaws. Lots of them. They have no idea what I'm thinking or needing or feeling. They don't always come through. They can't be my everything.

So where does that leave me? Do I forfeit the dream of the Mr. Darcys and the Mr. McDreamys for the Mr. LetmeDowns and the Mr. MakemeCrys just because the boys of the reality kind have settled for some deficient standard? Must I, in turn, settle? Do I give up on the notion of a perfect feeling of love?

Or is it a matter of shifting my perspective? Mr. Darcy will always be there when I need him, but in the meantime, maybe this reality kind of love is exactly what I'm meant to have. What I'm supposed to experience and perfect in ways I have yet to appreciate.  

It may not always be butterflies, or sweaty palms. It may not be an obvious kind of love. It may not be the stuff that fairy tale endings are made of. 

But it is a real kind of love. It is a truer kind of love. And that is more than any Mr. knight in shining armour could ever give.