Even Craig

Some nights, I’ll lie awake and think,

I want to know what love is.

Love, a concept essentially a Foreigner to me.

Get it?

Lines like that are likely why I’m still single.

Sorry, not single, self-partnered.

Don’t get that confused with being a loner.

Self-partnered is a creative way of committing to a positive relationship with yourself.

Guess that means I’ll have to break up with my left hand.

My apologies, that was highly inappropriate,

I’m actually right-handed.

Given my relationship status, it’s a struggle seeing all the couples around me,

Seemingly rubbing their happiness in my face.

I get it, you enjoy each others’ lips.

You’re in luck, there might be a Jelly Belly flavor for that!

They once had ear wax for God’s sake!

I’m craving a piece of what they’re sharing,

And I’m not just talking about their chocolate swirl cheesecake for two.

 

Don’t get me wrong, being self-partnered can have its perks.

It’s date night with myself every night.

I never have to worry about getting stood up,

Or choosing the right thing to say that won’t bore my date to tears.

I always get to take myself home.

(Which means the date must’ve gone exceptionally well you complete studmuffin.)

And best of all, I get to watch what I want to watch.

Care for some Monday Night Football?

Don’t mind if I do.

Sometimes, I think I might be the one.

 

Being self-partnered has its downfalls as well.

Going out to eat alone can be especially unsettling.

I’ll catch the occasional dumbfounded glance in my direction,

Like I’m the main attraction at your local zoo.

Their thoughts probably along the lines of,

What a loser,

Party of one…again?

I wonder if he knows he’s got ice cream running down his shirt?

Don’t just stand there you buffoon, fetch me a napkin.

If you’re so perplexed by me, take a picture sweetheart, it’ll last longer.

Dish me out a new bowl of ice cream while you’re at it.

FYI, I happen to wear my food like I just received the Medal of Freedom.

 

Anyways, it’s not like I wanted another romantic date with myself.

You think I don’t want to gaze into the eyes of someone other than my reflection?

Telling them I want to drown in the ocean of their blue eyes.

It’s not as much fun exchanging longing glances while being self-partnered.

Telling myself I want to squish in the manure of my brown eyes doesn’t have the same effect.

I wanna laugh over watching loners like myself spill ice cream down their front.

I want those long, romantic walks along the beach during the sunset.

It’s not as much fun having them by yourself,

Plus, conversations with the Coast Guard get pretty awkward.

What I’m trying to say is that I wanna feel what love is.

Part of which better involve scrubbing this fudge stain out of my shirt.

 

Eventually, I’ll have to break up with myself.

I’m used to rejection so that should be easy.

Being self-partnered has been great and all,

But, I want to know what love is.

True love with another person that is.

Also, not the biggest fan of dying alone.

Technically, don’t we all die alone?

It would appear we have a morbid conversation starter for another time.

However,

“When I die,

I want my tombstone to offer free Wi-Fi,

Just so people will visit more often.”

Don’t worry, I’ll leave all the naughty websites unblocked,

Possibly open a coffee stand,

Call it Six Feet Under.

If that’s not what love is,

I guess I don’t know then.

Maybe you could show me,

Or maybe I’ve gotta take a little time,

A little time to think things over…