Have you ever?

Have you ever met that one person who fulfilled all of the fairy tales?

After the lies, after moving beyond the physical, you realize that you love this one person, with heart and soul, and all effort just bounces back. This person finishes your sentences, with better grammar than you started with?

My friends ask me, the say, "Hey, J, have you ever loved?"

Well, yeah, many times. I have loved many women, off and on. Here and there. Now and then.

And my friends ask me, they say, "Have you ever 'really' loved a woman?"

That's just mean. 'Cause I did. Once. Loved a woman.

She was amazing, to me. She was terribly flawed, like me.

She was an alcoholic.

She was beautiful.

She had red hair, and a brain. She was a lawyer. Not that it matters all that much. Just a fact.

She didn't even want to have a man in her life, but we met at a party, and she was adjusting her makeup in the bathroom, and I just wandered in and started pissing. She did not blink an eye. She just kept on putting on her eyebrows. She glanced at me and remarked, "You seem to be a nice guy, putting down the seat and all."

She was funny. She understood my sense of humor. Right off the bat, we talked openly about everything. I watched her in the mirror as she finished up her makeup, and at that exact moment, we were linked. I spent the next six weeks with her. She drew me in, and I loved it.

But alcohol will only take you so far. It only took her so far in masking the pain of sexual abuse as a child. Something she never spoke of openly, unless she was drunk.

We watched old movies on cable, and shredded the scripts, the acting. She was actually a writer, something I longed to become. She hated being a lawyer. She didn't know what she wanted to do with her life, but she knew that the very last thing she ever wanted was to be a lawyer for the rest of her life. With me, she didn't have to do anything, but be herself. And she did that.

And I loved her.

I mean I really loved her. I thought that I was undeserving of loving a woman so much, but then she would just look at me and say, "You love me, don't you? You poor, poor man." And she meant it. We could talk about anything and everything, and it was as if we were one unit. Two sides of a nice coin.

Then, I pulled away, mostly because of her addiction. She didn't even fault me for drawing away. She understood my own feelings better than I, at the time.

I later went through my own little crisis, and met her at a bar. This was after five years, and when we touched, it was like time had stood still. I professed my love for her, and she pretty much said the same thing. I made plans to get a divorce and marry her. Seriously.

Then, before I could take action, she died. Her liver bit the dust.

I've often wondered that "if" I'd done this or that, she might still be alive. I'm selfish, in that way.

So my friends ask me, they say, "Hey J, what are you gonna do now?"

I guess I'll just move around and look for that woman that I'm apparently looking for. I may never find her, but I'll still look.

There have been some women that have come close -- very close -- but I have yet to meet one that can match Corrinne (Ms. C., or "Corky" as her friends called her). I only ever called her "hon." I called her that on the night we first encountered each other. She countered with a sarcastic, "Hon." It was a running joke throughout our relationship.

She could argue quite well, which I miss. Have yet to meet a woman who relishes an argument. A lot of women frequently confuse arguing with fighting. Two different things. She would preface her statements with, "Well, hon,..."

Hence, I live my life differently now. Still looking. It's unfair, but I have to compare every woman that I meet with Ms. C, and they usually fall way short.

I suppose it's hard to compete with a dead woman.

I miss her so much that the rest of my life presents itself almost as an afterthought. She told me to write. And so I do that.

I miss that woman. I miss her every fucking day.

It's hard to understand, but it's really difficult to love a dead woman. Actually, it ain't that hard. The hard part is getting over the fact that I will never, ever, hold her again. That's the hard part.

She's dead. A big part of me died as well.

Don't feel sorry for me, 'cause I don't feel sorry for myself. All I'm saying is, if you meet that one person that you think might work for you, then run with it.