I wanna live with a cinnamon girl, I could be happy the rest of my life with a cinnamon girl. A dreamer of pictures I run in the night You see us together, chasing the moonlight, My cinnamon girl. ~Neil Young
I believe we all have our cinnamon girl, the beauty that captured our imagination with just a fleeting glance, the woman that captures our heart in that brief instant we lock eyes, that perfect being we saw for but an instant then never saw again. She was perfect, perfect in every way we could imagine. But she was ethereal and vanished as we slowly exhaled the breath that stuck in our lungs when we first caught sight of her exquisite beauty. She is the girl of our dreams, our ultimate fantasy.
Of course it’s a fantasy, a fantasy we can toy with because we never have to get down to the real work required to make a long lasting relationship. It’s a fantasy because she is a mere snapshot in time, a face that will never grow old, a body that will never suffer illness or the decay of age. It’s a fantasy because we only see in her the possibility of physical intimacy. It’s a fantasy because there is no conflict which, when worked through, brings about deepening emotional intimacy, the intimacy that counts most in a relationship. It’s a fantasy because she is just a shell, a body without a mind, without a heart. She can be anything we want her to be. Almost anything we want her to be. For the fantasy can never be real and she can never be ours.