I have a vast collection of a certain kind of man. I collect the puer aeternus - eternal boys. I collect the narcissistic, the needy, the kind of man who loves to be mothered as long as he's not smothered. Every love of my life, every significant man in my life has been a puer. The common denominator is me, so I cannot blame them for my feelings of under-appreciation and hurt for they cannot see that they do anything wrong, and maybe they don't. Maybe it is just me.
I'd love to stop collecting boys and learn to collect men. Real men. Men who aren't scared of communication and compromise. Men who don't base their manliness on how awesome they are at their war games. Men who aren't afraid to be vulnerable or wrong. Men who are confident and a little cocky for good reason. Men who aren't afraid to man up and face the music even when they know the music won't be pleasant. Real men.
I collect a certain kind of man though. And I can't help but wonder why I love these men. Why I want better for them than they want for themselves. Why I see potential in them that they don't think is possible. I like being naive, but sometimes, it's painful. It's painful to watch men destroy themselves and their relationships because of pride or because they see relationships as games. There is a certain confidence that allows men to think that the people who love them will take hit after hit and keep coming back, but sometimes love just ain't enough. We're only expendable until we're gone.