Maybe this time

Relationships accessorize with complications.

People tend to cart their past around with them with the same meticulous care as though it were some new designer handbag.
Sometimes the past is written and the person laying beneath you is nothing like the last twelve undesirables you dated.
Sometimes they're exactly the same.

It would be easier to understand people if they played fewer games.
But for so many appearing a certain way takes precedence over actually being their genuine selves.
It's more important people think of them as the way they want to be seen than they embrace the real nerd behind the glasses.
And while they juggle their dueling personas their audience shifts in their seats quizzically.
What is one to really believe of anyone they date these days?

Such is my dilemma.
When I encounter someone who seems to be a walking dichotomy, who displays their contradicting personas so openly, I am at a loss as to know which is which.
Do I listen to the words they speak and accept they're as unfeeling as they seem?
Or do I listen to their actions that seem to unveil a goodness that even surprises them?

The relationships of the past lay jumbled in this misshapen heap and it reeks of something odious.
And try as we might all we experienced seeps into our present conversations with every lover and potential lady or man friend.
We see them as needy as our girlfriends past or as ashamed to be seen out with us like boyfriends forgotten.
We assume they'll all grow too attached too quickly, or harbor mountains of expectations or use us for momentary pleasures without caring to know our middle name.

But what if for one moment, with one person, we drew the curtain down on our stifling pasts and looked into the eyes looking upon us openly and honestly, with a raw vulnerability that inspired?
What if our fears and insecurities, our needs to remain guarded and indifferent melted away and what transpired between two people was simply pure truth?

Wouldn't that be something to write home about.

Maybe such honesty exists in fairytales and black and white movies.
Maybe hoping for those connections is as trivial as hoping for flowers when someone crosses a line they agreed to respect.

Or maybe there are those who drip stars from their eyes.
Maybe there are some whose melodies transcend the voice singing them.

And maybe they are the kisses our mouths hungrily wait to receive;
The honey still dripping from our tongues as we salivate for more sleepless nights to come.