short stories on love

I often feel like the woman at the well. Every relationship ends eventually, until the idea of marriage, after trying it five times, becomes too much of a chore. She turns cynical and merely lives together with her current man instead.

I also often think, that the men that pass through my life, go on to greater things. Behind every successful man was one woman in his past, and I am that woman. They move on, and I am still here, merely one of the many jewels in their crowns, but at least they are now kings or on their way there.

My love life is not a novel, but a collection of short stories, strung together by common themes. I make all my men feel insecure - my past, my mistakes, my charm. I neglect them while being in my own world, unable to pick up that phone just to check in. I am either too independent or too depressed. I am too much like a man in so many ways: I don't like to cuddle very much, I am not clingy, I cannot play my computer games and talk to you at the same time, I don't like to be disturbed at work, I give solutions to problems I listen to, and I like to zone out and be by myself sometimes.

My charm is very short-lived. For the past ten years men have fallen in love with me, and come alongside me, but we are unable to stick together because I do not have what it takes to be a sticker. I feel very special each time, but I know I would never be the last girlfriend, even though I know they would never forget me.

I don't like short stories. Beginning a new story again and again is tiring and I have less to give each time. Eventually I do end up loving that someone properly. But that story might end anyway.