There is a sort of cruel irony...

There is a sort of cruel irony to having a love song stuck in your head when you're not in love. For the past week or so, a single song has been resonating in my head: Brook Frasier's The Thief. Check it out here.

The jaded cynic in me says that certainly these types of feelings aren't even possible. I've searched and never felt anything like the words of this song. But the hopeless romantic in me knows that songs like that don't get written because of make-believe or fairytales. They are written in moments of truth and vulnerability.

I hate to hear women complain about their husbands, children, mother-in-laws. It breaks my heart. I want to grab them by the shoulders, shake them, and proclaim assertively, You have everything I want! Cherish it! I don't usually do that, by the way. But the thought has crossed my mind more than once. I know no one's circumstance is perfect, and human nature is really good at making us want what we don't or can't have, but still...

I've been through many phases of my single self. I've been happy and even proud to be alone, self-sufficient, and selectively single. I've been singularly focused on becoming not single in any way possible, desperately love-sick for the man of my dreams. And I've been all sorts of places in between. Today, I find myself melancholy, happy with where my life has taken me but knowing something still lacks. Counting my blessings but yearning for just one more. Excited for the possibilities of the horizon but cautious of what the next day might bring or not bring. And battling the irony that sits quietly beside that beautiful love song stuck in my head for another day.