All I want

This must be the summer of devastating and heartbreaking emails. It must be. I recieved the latest from a man I met in Spain (a man of 25 years, I think, but still a boy in so so many ways). Somehow he had found my email address, I know I didn't give it to him because our parting was tense, among other things. I don't think I ever officially said goodbye to him; it was one of those times when there was nothing more to say- as if saying hello itself was the big mistake and the tumoltuous events which followed were simply the tangential rivers of consequence.
One thing that has always struck me about this man is his incredible grasp of the english language. His email described detailed accounts of a woman he met, a woman who reminded him of me. "I remember that I had always found her very pretty, albeit a little too skinny and sullen, like some type of rare flower. She's but a young teenager, but today she made an impression on me. And the reason was that she reminded me of someone I knew. She was wearing some long white skirt her toes peeking through it's bottom rim, a brown tank top, an assortment of accesories, and her hair was pulled back and held in place by some metal clippings (I don't know what they're called). Her timid smile and shiny eyes hint at a certain intelligence and liveliness somewhat hidden by her semblant of sweetness. She reminded me of you. We but talked briefly. Coincidently she's leaving in just a few days to the U.S. to study there for a year. I thought of you. She had to go and said goodbye. I missed you."The email continued with a heartbreaking account of a romance that I only wish I had the capacity to have, a romance he must've created on his own with pretty delicate words woven like lace into his memory, but his memory alone. I do not remember these things happening, but to see them written down and displayed before me makes my heart cry out and wish that they did, that I would be capable of inspiring such poetry. But I know I am not.
I went to a friend's house and drank beer and played darts with some of the guys. As per usual, I was the only girl, and as drunken conversations are wont to take us, we entered the territory of discussing girlfriend problems. The boys came to the unanimous conclusion that every girl is some type of crazy. I, of course, hated that conclusion and demanded to know that if every woman was some type of crazy, what type of crazy was I. One of them blurted out "yeah, but Jessi, you're not really a girl." another said "oh yeah, you're some type of crazy, we just haven't figured you out yet". Maybe I do fall into that terrible generalization of my sex. But even so, the point is that we need to find someone that doesn't see "our type of crazy" as crazy at all.
It brings me back to a phone conversation I had with a friend, recently returned from Costa Rica and desperately missing a relationship left behind there. we were talking about "types" , you know, the "type of guy" a girl goes for etc. After some thought I came to the conclusion that my "type", the "type" I have always wanted but never quite found, is just someone I can be 100% myself around. Someone with whom I didn't have to put on a show, someone who would take my good with my bad, and find my eccentricities to be charming rather than obnoxious. Someone to whom I can say "Here I am: I, insecurity; I, loving; I, bold woman; I, timid girl. Take it or leave it" It's true, our society and our silly girl-magazines try to tell us that some people like "bad boys" and others "pretty boys" etc etc. But really no one is like that. No one really sticks to a superficial type like that. Sure, we all have what our "ideal" would be, but something deeper always guides us.
Still, all I really want is to be alone. To continue this perfectly blissful state of independence that I have been swimming in for the past few months. I don't know why this is so hard for people to understand. Some people think it's just that I haven't met the right guy yet, that i haven't been looking in the right places. But the thing is, i'm just not looking at all. I'm tired of the show, of the big act. I'm tired of the stupid games. it's gotten to the point where I don't know if people are genuinely the way they act, or if it's just part of the gig to get what they want. Are they listening or are they off in their own world, thinking of some flowery and witty pick up line disguised as poetry, hoping that this time they'll catch me, that i'll fall into their trap and then, just as quickly as I fell, they'll leave me in the dust. I'm tired of the chase, of the stupid flirtatious dance. Give me someone who can happily sit and watch saturday morning cartoons with me (clad in boxers and some dirty t-shirt), or let me just do it myself in peace.