Girlfriendism

Furiously, anxiously, nearly fanatically, I shovel through the dirt. I shovel through the smiles and the loving glances, the touches. I shovel through the hand holding, the emotional highs, the benefit-of-the-doubt. I cast the gravel to the side, digging deeper and deeper, frightfully searching for the truth that will set me free. Yes, I want to know. Yes, I'm afraid to know. No, I don't care. Wait, yes I do. Do you even care? I suddenly stop, look around, and realize that in this search for truth I've only dug myself into a hole. So I'm standing alone, buried in dirt, shovel in hand, heart on the chopping block... and I begin to think, "aren't I worth more than this?" I've noticed that I'm not girlfriend material... I'm wife material. My heart wasn't built to go through the ifs and buts that come with girlfriendism. My manufacturer left that out because it causes too many viruses. I wasn't made to be cheated on. I wasn't made to wonder about it, either. I'm not supposed to be worrying about why he's on the phone, why she's mad because he hasn't called her and why he's having to explain himself. Yes, I was made to be a Queen, but not his Queen of Convenience. It's not in my blood to sit comfortably in the fact that I've swept him off his feet and still wait to be swept off of my own. I'm honest, kind, faithful, forgiving, wonderful, lovely, sexy, amazing, beautiful, adorable, contemplative, open-minded, intelligent, deep... I've tried to figure out what I lack! And I've finally got it. I lack girlfriendism. I'll become somebody's wife, and a darn good one.