Cursed be the unknown

It was all so much easier when he was merely a fanciful crush, well beyond my reach. Having lived with the knowledge of his existence for so long, (that existence safely out of sight and almost out of mind,) and entirely lacking in reciprocation for many years, I had dismissed any possibility of becoming genuinely enamored of him, or he of me.

But years pass and people change.

One day, I grew breasts and learned that men are but mortal in the face of feminine wile. Or rather, in the face of the promise, empty or not, of glistening bodies and limbs intertwined. And when I met this man again after many moons, he was no exception.

And then I allowed myself to wonder if he might really be as amazing as I had allowed myself to imagine. He was everything that I thought I wanted: smart, witty, handsome, noble, passionate, creative, well-read... And mildly retarded when it came to interacting with the opposite sex in any capacity beyond that of a friend or brother. His egregious inability to communicate his feelings drove me to a multi-month boycott of his attentions, of which he took no notice, as he made no attempts to contact me. And that felt shitty, particularly post-coitum.

And so it was: we had reached a standstill. I was hurt and disappointed; he knew I was hurt and disappointed but didn't know how to respond and subsequently shut me out. The end.

Right?

Fast forward to now, when I've met a man who adores me in spite of me being me. We're just chugging along that well-worn path to--I don't even want to say where. But that's where we're trying to go. Sometimes I see fireworks and butterflies and beautiful laughing children who look a little like him and a little like me. Sometimes I feel as though my heart has been lassoed and the noose is tightening around it. My brow furrows, adding wrinkles to the list of things I worry about.

The man now, he is also smart and witty and handsome. But I worry, prematurely, that perhaps we will not survive the world around us. If it were just us, I think we would be okay. And then I find my thoughts wandering to the man before. There is a little part of me that is hesitant to move forward; it is that part that prevents me from committing myself wholly to the man now.

I am convinced that his perfection (aside from the hurt and the disappointment and the awkward manner with women) can only be a figment of my imagination.

Then why can't I just let go and adore completely the man who adores me so wholeheartedly now?