Oh, you're looking for the spark

Well.

Sometimes - most times in my experience - that feeling you're looking for isn't really a spark.  It's a warning flare.  A goddamn forest fire.

Run!  It says.  Bad idea!  It screams.  Come on, not again!  It pleads.

No one feels the spark with the nice guy because he isn't going to break your heart and leave you wondering.  The spark is for the bright blue eyes that saw you falling four steps before he even asked your name.  The spark crackles in plenty of time for you to lace up your running shoes, but it's that sound that glues you to the trouble instead.  

Like the first idiot to fall when running from the zombies, you walk up the stairs rather than out the front door.  Because the ever-storied spark is danger.  It is embodied in the urge to tear clothes from defined shoulders.  It is the heat that melts all your good common sense.  It is every self-preserving notion leaving your brain and headed straight to your ....well....you get the idea.  And the spark will be your downfall.

Because it doesn't last.  It can't.  Even if he isn't the Don Juan of Forgettabletown, USA.  Even if he doesn't have a revolving door installed next to his pool tabled living room.  Even if he's a good one.  Of course, the spark fizzles.  It's supposed to.  That's just the hook.  If you don't want to still tear those clothes off of the man who forgot to take the trash to the curb on Tuesday morning, than maybe you should stop searching for a spark.  When you come up for air - because you always have to eventually - and your returning good common sense tells you to fake a terminal illness and change your route to work, than stop running toward the fire.

Give the nice guys a chance.  There may not be a spark, but there probably won't be a required clinic visit either.