I'm not a masochist. At least not anymore. I haven't been for a long time. I stopped believing that love has to hurt in order to be real sometime between my 20th and 22nd birthday. I don't want a guy who can be nice, I want a guy who really is nice - with a touch of sarcasm thrown in here and there for kicks. Assholes need not apply.
Since I graduated from college, I have done a lot of crying over men, with the majority dedicated to the Idiot Who Made Me Cry and The Guy Who Shouldn't Make Me Cry. I have wounds that have healed and some that probably never will. In spite of it all, I can still look at both of these men and honestly say that they are great guys. Huh? Great guys don't make girls cry. Oh really? Well think about it this way.
Before they made me cry, they made me smile all the time. Before the tears there was laughter, tons of it. The very thought of them sent my stomach into butterfly induced spasms. They called every night and talked to me until I fell asleep. And when we were together they never let me sleep outside the comfort of their arms. They indulged my whims and met my needs. They were my refuge and solace when being away from home was more than I could take. For a little while they were my home until it all burned to the ground.
Sometimes I still get homesick. Great guys screw up all the time and it hurts a hundred times more because when it's over you know exactly what it is you're missing. I don't miss being hurt, being ignored, being neglected or crying myself to sleep. I don't want any of that ever again. But everything that happened before the salty streams stained my face, all of that I would keep forever.