My Name’s Scott and I’m a “Hopeless Romantic?”

I should clarify a couple of things before I begin:

  • I am a heterosexual male of mixed origins (African-American & German to the best of my knowledge), but I believe love is a right of all sentient beings alongside freedom.
  • I see people as human beings, so one’s sexuality is not as obvious to me as it would be to others, which might partially explain why I sometimes randomly asked lesbians out on dates to no avail.
  • I was born in Los Angeles and spent the majority of my childhood along with my entire teenage years in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
  • I become extremely annoyed with anyone who assumes that I like Pittsburgh; I don’t. This town annoys me immensely. The reason for that is because of the winters and the staleness of the city itself.
  • I was raised as a Christian and surrounded with Baptist Christian values, but over the years, I’ve become more Agnostic than anything else.
  • I am an introvert, specifically an INFJ or an “advocate personality,” and I’m currently working on trying to open up my mind as much as I can.
  • I am a cinema addict/lover, and I went to film school to feed that addiction and came out a photographer, video editor, writer, and cinematographer. There’s not enough time in this century to explain that one so I’ll leave it at that.
  • I am obsessed with women. Again, not enough time to delve into that one completely, but I’ll elaborate a little bit on that one later.
  • I fucking swear like a goddamn sailor in person, but I try to keep shit like that out of my writing unless it calls for some “fucks.”

The reason for that rough explanation of who I am is because I feel that it might help add some depth to an internet profile and a one year-old picture when I get a bit personal.

In the nearly quarter century that I’ve been alive — which is a grand way of saying that I’m going to be twenty-five at the end of October — I was always a romantic, starting from as far back as elementary school. To be clear, just because I was a romantic, does not in any way does it mean that I was a successful romantic. “Hopeless romantic” is a term thrown around for people who aren’t really all that hopeless in their love lives; they’re exaggerating their situation only slightly more than their reality. My reality, so to speak, consists of many failed attempts to find a connection with a woman who feels a similar way. Thus, the quotes around the words hopeless romantic. The rare occasions that it did work out, either I wasn’t mentally stable enough for the relationship, or I just didn’t have chemistry with the other person. As of right now, the most intimate I have ever been with a woman was with an amazingly understanding polyamorous friend of mine who is currently engaged to be married.

Poetry. I wrote poetry almost consistently throughout high school and art school. Mostly it was one of the many ways of art I’d use to show others what my mind is like. I wrote about women, but never mentioned a specific woman for most of my work. The times I did, they didn’t go over well with with the woman I intended it for, with the exception of the one I mentioned earlier. Speaking of which, I should also mention that at the time I wrote this, I am a virgin. Not for religious reasons, but more for personal reasons. Reasons being that I wasn’t as eager as I said I was in the past, I wasn’t interested in the woman who was interested in that way, or I was flat-out afraid. Recently, it’s been the eagerness that’s halted that aspect of my life. That hasn’t stopped me from expressing romance in my poetry. I find that even in things that don’t reference women or love in the work, still makes its way into the piece. That will always be a part of me, I guess.

I love women. I will forever be amazed, mystified and obsessed with the female gender. Their personality, the way they carry themselves ever so subtly throughout the day, or sometimes not so subtle. The stories they tell captivate me when others would phone in their listening face whilst thinking about whether their player’s been drafted to a new team, the physique of their most lusted-after celebrity, or if tonight’s a good night to “turn up.” Yet, these are the kinds of men I typically see around the women I’m usually interested in. To be fair, there are good ones out there, and I’m not going to make myself out to be some kind of best alternative “nice guy” or some bullshit of that nature. There are good guys out there and I’m honored that women feel that they can count me among them. Of course, women cannot be mentioned without their varying forms of exquisite physical beauty. But it is possible, I am able to do so, but I am also obsessed, so an honorary mention of the most visible fraction of their overall attraction and allure in my eyes is mandatory for me. I would be perfectly happy spending the rest of my days photographing women if I could. That’s a dream job for me.

I don’t believe I’m entirely a hopeless romantic, as I’ve said earlier. I have been in a handful of relationships, but I’ve been more of a witness to human coupling, so to speak, than I have been a participant. People talk to me about their relationships all the time. They still do. I guess they see me as someone they can trust with that information and give them sound advice. I do what I can to help them, mostly because they ask for it. Sometimes it’s probably because I hope that my help in their romantic struggles might help some of my own in the long run. I guess it’s safe to say that I still hope that I can one day find a woman who sees me like I see them. If not, that’s okay, too. It’s been more than a few years since I’ve experienced that feeling. The inklings left over have usually been kept burning thanks to my engaged poly friend from California, but now that I’m living in Pittsburgh for the time being, they’ve began to fade into memory. I don’t mind it, but I do miss my Californian friends and especially the land that they reside on. Being and living back home, in Los Angeles, was as close I got to feel love without it being unrequited.

It might seem melancholy to end a statement of love and romance on such a depressing open-ended note, but for me, that’s a Wednesday afternoon.