Writing At The Bar

So here I am again, writing in a notebook instead of on the computer.
That would be more precisely writing in a notebook at the bar. Harkens back to my days in Athens, actually. That night turned into a semi-good one. Writing at the bar started a conversation with a bachelorette party which led to me making out with the bride-to-be repeatedly. Still some of the best kissing I've ever shared. She had the same tongue instincts that I did. The moment with which to initiate the tongue escaping the palate through the lips, the forcefulness with which one shoves their tongue into the other person's mouth, the appropriate amount of time to twirl tongues in a tango around and around before breaking off to kiss again, lightly on the lips; then pulling back just far enough to look in your partner's eyes before going in for the kill, again. I doubt this night will end like that one.
   There is a current that runs from that night to where I am today though. Most notably, the fact that I was making out with the bride-to-be. She was literally betrothed to another, and I knew this going in. My most recent relationship, which I actually didn't know was a relationship until we mutually decided we couldn't talk anymore, was with a woman who was a former bride-to-be; in other words, a wife. I've already explained elsewhere how our relationship blossomed and then suddenly died, so I won't do it again now. But the worst part, now, is that I didn't realize the depth of emotion that I had for her until it was over. I had to experience the "in love" feeling at the same time, and so acutely, with the pain of losing it simultaneously. It's quite an awful feeling.
   I have a not-too uncommon lament then.
   "Why are all the good ones taken?"
   I know many females, and invariably the ones that I am attracted to are already with another. Even if I don't know beforehand, eventually I will find out that the smart, attractive, funny girl who I've been having a great time talking to has been with their other for a while, or years, or since kindergarten, or since they were born the same minute at the same hospital in different wings and they've been soulmates since before they took their first breath.
   Well now, I don't know where to continue on to. This whole train of thought leads to a dead end, one where there's no one to be with, except for that one person who's out there who you just haven't met yet. You know, the one that you hear about from friends and strangers when you're single and expressing frustration at not finding anybody.
   Well, I'm about done for now, and no taken ladies have approached me, entranced by my hipness of writing while in a bar.
   "Hey, who is that deep guy who came out to the bar and is writing furiously in his worn and tattered notebook?"
   At least I allow myself to imagine at times that this is what a girl would ask herself when she spies me cuddled up next to the touch screen gaming system.