My grandmother never fell in love again after my grandfather decided to leave. He was to be her only love. I always wondered why she gave up on love altogether. Now, I do know. She actually didn’t give up, she was a content single woman. I must admit that her hands were probably too full bringing us all up, but still, there could have been a chance and she didn’t take it.
I somehow feel the same way; complete. I don’t brood thinking I’m missing out on having a relationship. I’m aware that it’s a lot of work and I’m not willing to go through the trouble.
Right now I have enough on my plate as it is and there is little room for yet another emotional addition to the mix. There is too much to do, too many friends and family to ever feel wanting of love and affection. And when I need a hug I can always hug a dog and this is enough warmth for me. No strings attached!
I’m also older and wiser which makes it even more difficult to fall for fantasies of happily ever after. What I find interesting is that I don’t feel sorry for myself or look at couples and feel saddened that I’m single. On the contrary, I give a sigh of relief because I’m not ready, and I’m afraid, will never be ready to commit again.
I’m not giving up, I’m simply accepting a fact that’s unique to me, and I’m more than OK with it.