May the odds...

Call me a hopeless romantic but I am reading the Hunger Games and more often than not my eyes are full of tears. I live this book so intensely that sometimes, when drowned in it and magically transported to the universe of hunger, death and repression, but also love and courage I must remind myself that I still do live in the real world.
I'm only half way through and I think I am in love with Peeta. I am so in love with Peeta and his quiet reliability, charming nature strong presence that I totally forgot about the guy I've been dating for two months, who texted me about a week ago that he would call me later and never did contact me again. Nor answered any of my calls... 
I'm so madly in love with the idea of a man who would sacrifice himself for me because I matter that much to him. And who would hold me at night in his arms with such protective intent that my episodes of waking up in the middle of the night with a sense of loneliness, desperation and hollowness (which sadly occur sometimes) would totally dissipate as if erased from my memory.
I'm almost surprised how many feelings get stirred inside of me while reading these books. I thought I had grown bitter, that I developed a protective crust around my soul which stops me from feeling anything anymore and that the only thing left for me to do is to look distrustful around and expect the next guy to do the same and get away unpunished. I almost thought I'd end up writing another bitter post about how coward and rude break-ups should be punished by law, how I deserve at least a bit of respect and how people should not just look at me and shake their heads saying 'That happened to me so many times in the past too...' as if it's normal!
Instead, I don't care. Because none of these men who can't look you in the eye (or at least press the send button) and say what they have to say to you clearly and honestly ever were men. Expecting them to act as they ought to it's as if you'd expect a donkey to win horse race. They just can't. And you can't be upset with a donkey for not having been built like a horse. Or get upset with the rain or the cold for making you feel miserable. They just exist... Your feelings are your own responsibility though...
So what are my feelings then? My feelings are that I am ok. I am ok and I know what I am looking for. I am looking for a man. And if there aren't any more out there, I'll just have to do with the heart warming image of an imaginary Peeta, but certainly nothing less than this...
Oddly enough I went to see the Hunger Games (the movie) with the same guy. And while I was entirely enchanted by the story (even by the brutality... after all, isn't it all a metaphor or the world we live in today,  yet we carry on eating or little sandwich on our lunch break when somewhere else in the world people have to fight for a piece of stale bread, without feeling overly appalled?...) he looked totally unimpressed. While I was hoping to share my enthusiasm with him all he wanted to share with me was a bored comment of how late it was and how the film was not well executed. Looking back, that's when I probably realised he wasn't the guy for me and yet I let another couple of weeks go by before facing that reality. Next time, promise I'll trust my instincts. They're never wrong. They are invaluable for survival... And may the odds be ever in my favour!