Like when women hate men it’s frustrating at worst, maybe it hurts someone’s feelings, but when men hate women they are shamed, abused, patronized, demeaned, objectified, raped, and murdered, ya feel me, so even if I WAS a raging misandrist like worst case scenario I’d be a bummer at parties, meanwhile a girl somewhere literally can’t leave her house because it’s dark outside.
I don’t consider myself an expert on love (or anything at all, really), but I am a perpetual student. I find myself studying the romantic entanglements of even distant acquaintances, for the small pleasure of a momentary snapshot of the happiness of others. I watch as their affairs blossom and fade, as if they were merely characters in a story. I keep their numerous proclamations of love and loss as if they were my own, stored away deep inside of me, a secret that we silently keep.
I pour myself into my relationships wholly, molten, heated from three decades of fire. I slip into routine, into intimacy, with such an ease. I am as at home in the arms of another as I am deep within the pages of a favorite book.
**Note: I jotted this down last summer and never posted it, because I forgot it existed. It’s even more relevant now that the relationship that inspired it is coming to an end. My love affair with love marches on.
if you tell someone ‘no’ and they respond with “FINE……….” or “guess ill be all alone….” or “its okay im used to having my hopes crushed…….” or any of that guilt-inducing passive aggressive fuckery, cut them straight out of your life because you never deserve to feel bad for setting boundaries or speaking your mind.
I broke up with someone whom I love and care about very much, but my overwhelming feeling is relief, so I know all the guilt and doubt is worth it. I’ll never understand how people stay in relationships for years and years with that feeling.