Word Vomit

I haven’t been able to put my thoughts into words. So I’m going to word vomit a little bit.

I feel stupid that I fell into your words. I feel stupid I spent so much money. I feel stupid I got upset with you about those girls on the bus. I feel stupid I couldn’t hide who I was. I feel stupid that I thought that I was this fantasy person to you and when I came I became an everyday reality. I feel stupid I felt so insecure.

I thought about ending it a lot of times. I thought it after the first night. I thought it staring out at the Eiffel Tower. I thought it when I fell to my bed after I came home. And I always ask myself why I didn’t. I ask myself what it meant to me to end it. I ask myself why I thought I wanted to give it a shot.

I spent time talking to my therapist about it and she told me that you were a jerk. She told me I had a habit of dating jerks. I worry about that a lot. I dated here and there after that but I completely haulted dating because I know the type of people I end up with. I know the energy, time, and love I put into a person without the reciprication. Thinking that if I make that effort, they’re going to make an effort back. but they dont.

But oddly, right now, I feel the best I have. Sure, lonely. But I’ve taken the energy to dwelve into other projects. I’ve been networking and running and dancing and creating. I’ve started isolating myself at work but deepening the friendships I’ve made in the area. I’ve bought books to read and made it through some, even though every day I tell myself I need to be reading and writing.  I fantasize about how soon that day is coming that I’m moving away.

I worry about moving across the country. I think about having kids and my parents and how my grandparents were a hemisphere away. I think about how separate I keep my family, yet talk about my dad to everyone around me. I think about the person I was and the person I am. I think about how I can’t escape the flaws of my parents flowing through me. Everytime I think I supress it, it just bursts out.  I think about how I’m a bad person, and it feels good to be able to write that down.

The one thing I’m most happy about is my skin is the nicest it has been since before puberty. At one point it was so bad I didn’t want to be seen undressed in front of anyone. But between sunscreen, those face masks, medication, and rosehip oil, it’s finally starting to slowly clear up. I take all these half naked photos and put them in a photo vault deep in my phone. It’s not that I don’t want to send them, there’s no one to send them too. So they lie dormant. I think a lot about my own vanity. Being another breathing organism on this planet but thinking that I can make myself stand out apart from those other organisms. It’s what I’m working on now. feeling accomplished. Feeling self-worth.

Readers! Thanks as always for reading my word vomit. I just have a lot of time to think and not enough people to tell it to. Thx internet for existing.


My Philadelphia Cat Person

I don’t know why I decided tonight, Saturday at 1am as any time to write this. I started reading a collection of poems by Hanif Willis-Abbsurraqib called “The Crown Ain’t Worth Much,” where the poem ‘On Hunger’ made me cry. And then I got to thinking about Cat Person and the uneasiness of dating. And finally, I came to thinking about the guy I decided to give a chance that I had met on the dance floor only a few weeks back.

I saw an event posted on the Philly Burners group. It was a house show that had a 2 for $5 deal. I texted my friend asking if she wanted to spend Thursday night at the event and just not get that much sleep for the next day at work. She said yes and we proceeded to make plans. The venue was a two-story building and when we got there right at 10pm they were still setting up upstairs. We had a drink, caught up, talked about work, and talked about making friends and meeting people, went upstairs had a second, third drink and talked about relationships, life, and finding events. Finally, the floor was filling up with people and we decided to go out. I wasn’t trying to meet anyone but I was also trying to be outgoing. Not so cooped up. Not so hung up. So I made my first mistake, I made eye-contact.

He looked nice. Hip. Glasses. Scarf. Fade. And we made eye contact. A couple times. We started dancing. Swinging around, hips moving, feet going side to side. Then he got me into a corner, and I just wanted to chat. I asked about what he did, how he got there, and I could tell all he wanted to do was kiss me, and I felt uneasy. So I just asked him more questions, found out he’s from the area, lived in different parts of California, was a photographer/ cinematographer. And we made out. I had left my friend and at the ripe age of 25, I know no guy is worth leaving a friend for so I asked for his number and to get a drink at a later date. I returned to my friend and before he left he came back and kissed me. We separately texted over the next couple days because I was traveling for work but I didn’t really want to be in touch with him. But in my head, I felt that I needed to put myself out there. I needed to get the practice. I get hung up on the guys that didn’t want to be with me and ended up in relationship soon after… I felt like I needed to do the same thing…

I came back and wanted to figure out grabbing this drink. And he never made concrete plans but asked me if I wanted to go to his place of work, which was a restaurant. It reminded me of another guy who said that he would have girls come to the bar that he would work at and it wouldn’t be weird. So, instead of going to the restaurant, I went to a coffee shop and read. I waited and waited, wanting to minimize the time I would have to wait there and then walked over when the coffee shop closed. I told the host I was there to see the dance floor guy and dance floor guy walked over to me and asked me how I was doing. I didn’t even recognize him without his glasses. So I sat and had a margarita, read, and waited for him to get off shift.

He brought me to the front bar area, we chatted, I met his coworkers. Before we could leave they brought us shots to take together and they wanted to embarrass him so they brought out a cake and sang happy birthday. I laughed and thought it was sweet he had a group of people around him that liked and cared about him that much. Mildly mortified, he got me out of there quick and we walked to another bar down the street. He gave me a kiss before we walked across the street and I was in awe. And then I look back at that moment and realize I had two margaritas and a shot of tequila in my system. Because when we had a drink at the bar I really loved the conversation we had and how he held my hand across the table. We talked about Jurassic Park and AI, and he talked to me about movies. And it sounds really wonderful and nice but then I think back… And he just talked about the things that he knew. He didn’t want to get to know who I was, but I later learned he liked to learn about people through observations.

So I asked him if he wanted to invite me back to his apartment and I spent the night. He was so worried about how messy his room was that he asked if it was ok if I waited downstairs while he cleaned it. Listen, I know what that is like. I literally sometimes keep my room super messy just so I don’t bring a person back. Or I don’t care and they can make their silent judgments and want to not be with me. I know the person who I am. But this guy. Dance floor guy was more insecure. He made me wait downstairs for thirty minutes. I asked his roommate to go check on him because I was concerned. What could be so bad in the room that he couldn’t bring me up after five minutes? He had a tiny room. It was mainly his bed. I’ve seen some rough stuff. If it was that bad just say no, but anything to get laid, am I right? So I slept over and this is where I get a little confused. Because I wanted to hook up with him at the bar but then at the moment, well in the middle of having sex I just didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t want to be with him. I hated that he was inside of me. I couldn’t figure out why in one moment I was so eager and wanted to go back with him, initiated everything, and then all I wanted to do was leave.

I woke up early the next morning, he walked me to my car, and I could tell he was smitten with me. And I just wanted to drive home, shower, and go to work. So after he deeply kissed me goodbye, I drove away. I didn’t want to look back.

We made plans to go on a second date that following weekend. Friday he was out in the same area I was but I was with co-workers, Saturday I was tired and slept until 4pm, and Sunday came and we didn’t have concrete plans. I waited for him until 2pm and finally asked what he wanted to do. And then he made last minute plans to go to a car show. I canceled. I’m 25. I’m not about to have someone waste my day and then figure out that if they want to see me again that they will figure out the last minute plan. I respect my time.

So I went on a second date with him. We got pizza at a place where you reserve your own dough that following Wednesday. Again, I don’t know why I went. I didn’t really want to see him. I think I wanted to lie to myself. That it will get better. That I would like him. That I should just try. That my intuition is wrong. We got pizza. We drank wine. We talked about movies and he would do this thing where he would stare at me and was about to say something but would just kind of nervously laughing. And I almost got irritated. Because it looked so often that he was going to say something but he would just look at me. He told me how beautiful my eyes were. How beautiful I was. And I just wanted to punch him in the face. I couldn’t handle his neuroticism. I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to be with him. So we went for a drink at another bar.

He held my hand. He gave me a kiss. We talked for another hour and I was tired and wanted to go home. So I drove to his house to drop him off and on the way, he asked if I wanted to come inside for a drink. And at this point, and especially with everything in the news I just didn’t care. I turned to him and said, “Are you asking me if I want to go inside and have sex.” I shouldn’t have been so blunt. I should have played along. That’s what the whole first part is about is playing along? I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t care. I didn’t want some message of oh I only invited you inside for a drink nothing else, as you grab away at me and think that I’m yours. I had this awful images in my head. That you only want me because you perceive me as beautiful. You didn’t even ask about my passions, interests, fears, and joys. But why would you? It was only the second date…

As we kissed on the staircase I couldn’t do it. I told him I wanted to leave and that I didn’t want to do this. I told him I had too many other things I wanted to focus on, like finding a new job, and moving away, and finding a new city. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be with him. I enjoyed my time with him but I didn’t want to be with him. He was stunned. Thrown off. He didn’t see it coming. He was glad I was upfront. He kissed me deeply and I told him I needed to go. I drove away.

He texted me two days later saying bringing home the pizza was a good idea. I told him how I was getting sick and sorry if I got him sick. He made a joke about looking forward to it and I didn’t say anything. And he texted following up saying it was a joke. I told him I knew.

And today three weeks later he messaged me out of the blue asking how I was. I responded. And he hasn’t gotten back to me yet. And I don’t know why I play into it. Why I feel bad. Why I feel like I should respond. And how to tell him bluntly and to the point that I don’t want to date him. But that can wait. Until he texts me back. I just think about him and get angry. I get mad at every man I meet who tells me I’m beautiful in the first five minutes of our interaction. I hate the men that stare at my eyes. I hate the men that look at me. Oogle. I’m more. And I wish they could see that.

Reflecting on 2017

I can’t sleep and have been thinking back and reflecting on my past year of dating.

Shout out to the guy I met in Montreal. You were the first person since my break up that I could have sex with without crying. Thanks for keeping me in the moment and not letting me cry on top of you. Really. Wonderful. I mean it. With that, thanks for also having me spend the weekend with your whole family and then moving to Los Angelos. I know you needed to do it for you but next time don’t be flaky about hanging out again. Also, thanks for being the first person to ever send me a dick pic. Really. Wonderful. I mean it.

Shout out to the first guy I went on consecutive dates on for the first time since my break-up. We had some really great times and moments. Remember when we went for breakfast but they only were serving lunch? Remember that Kerry James Marshall exhibit, that I still think back to basically every day? Remember that moment, you probably don’t but I do, when we were discussing a painting and I felt an immense attraction to your intellect? Remember that kiss in the castle overlooking central park? Remember my friend’s band? Remember the anxiety I felt splitting time between you and my friends? Remember me flaking the next day? Remember me not contacting you to reconcile why I did what I did? I’m sorry about that.

Shout out to that guy who started dancing with me in Philadelphia. Remember when we had sex in my car? I to this day think what it would have been like if I decided to not talk to you again after. Thanks for meeting up with me in Boston and that wonderful talk on the bench. Thanks for showing me since my break up that I can fall in love with someone again. Thanks for feeding my head with the things that you fed me so much so that I flew across an ocean to see someone who I had only spent time with in person with for a collective of 4-5 hours. Thanks for breaking my heart in the most polite manner a month later. I guess this one is the one I’m still working on getting closure.

Shout out to the guy in Philadelphia that I went on a date with. Thanks for showing me a wonderful time! The beer was good and that Mac & Cheese??? Wow. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with me that first night. That feels pretty rare on a first date. We talked into the night and the next thing we knew it was 11:30 and I needed to get back because I had work the next day. Remember how you walked me to my car because I probably parked in a sketchy place? Remember how my nose bled when we were making out? You said it was endearing. I would believe you but we flaked on making real plans and haven’t seen each other since. I’m still mortified.

It’s been quite a year.

Missed Connection

This weekend I was shopping for a birthday present and I came across a book of poems. No, not the sonnets from Shakespeare or Pablo Neruda but of a more secret type of love. A book of love poems from people who wrote out their lusts and desires anonymously for the world to see in the deep parts of Craigslist missed connections.

What is Craigslist missed connections? Have you ever walked by a person and made eye contact but didn’t feel comfortable enough professing your love right there and right then? Have you ever made small talk with that guy in your uber pool and really hit it off but instead of giving your number, you got out of the car and walked up to your apartment to go be by yourself instead of in love? Have you ever sat on the library steps, watching the sunset, and saw someone sitting a few steps down, and thought about talking to them? And as you kind of muster up some courage to maybe get up and walk over and say hi, you see someone else walk up to them, meet up for that study date they must have coordinated, and watch both of them disappear into the abyss of books and then seriously thought about what platform to reach them on? Well, put your missed connection on Craigslist, in hopes that the person had the same idea to also check it to connect with you. Alan Feuer collected these poor aching hearts and the truest words that fell out of their fingers and published it as poetry. This book of poems is so genuine and truly speaks to how we all feel lonely and not connected and how many connections we miss everyday. These people felt a connection so deep and so powerful that in a desperate attempt they posted an ad on Craigslist in hopes that the person also felt a connection so deep and so powerful that they also got the idea to check Craigslist. That this person felt enough of a connection to warrant responding to their description while praying that there’s not a murderer on the other side!

As I was reading these poems, I thought about the one time I scanned the Craigslist missed connections for about three weeks too long in hopes that someone that I met had posted on there. About nine months ago my friends and I decided to go to the House of Yes for the House of Love. The night of the event I went on a quick date, left him, and met up with my friends to transform into my blonde wigged alter persona and get freaky. We went into a group of four and when midnight hit my friend and his friend left because she had to wake up at five the next morning. So I was left with my friend to dance and wait in lines for rooms we would never get into. As the night went on it got really crowded but some guy approached me and started talking to me. I was bopping along to the music and we chatted a little bit about work, the scene, him trying to find his friends. I pointed to my friend and said I was with him and he asked me if he was my boyfriend. I told him he wasn’t and we continued talking about traveling and life.

Then it got so crowded and between the crowd, the dance floor, him leaving to get a drink or meet whoever, we were separated. My friend and I danced a little while longer, got a cab home, and he asked me why I didn’t get his number and I asked myself the same thing. We had hit it off, right? We didn’t kiss or anything. Honestly, even the conversation was fairly generic. But he was cute! And I was interested enough that I didn’t fake that my friend was my boyfriend. I got into a deep thought about this and decided that we must have had a connection. Maybe he thought the same thing, knew I wore a blonde wig and so he would never be able to recognize me in real life, and maybe, just maybe, would post a missed connection on Craigslist. I scoured the Brooklyn missed connections in hopes to see something. Something like, ‘you were wearing a blonde wig and fur vest. I thought we had a connection. Tell me where I most recently was on vacation so I know it’s you.’ Or ‘Your blonde hair bounced, as you bopped to the DJ. I was in a suit. You told me that guy wasn’t your boyfriend but maybe you lied. Anyways, respond to this if you want to get to know each other. Just a shot in the dark.’ But nothing. I did see some other lost lovers trying to connect with someone they had met that night at House of Love. I wished them well. I wished them to connect in a way that I didn’t.

Why did I think to go to Craigslist? Looking back, we had a pretty average conversation. There were no sparks and no longing. But yet, I checked. Maybe I was lonely. Maybe I thought he was lonely. Maybe I thought he thought I disappeared into the crowd. And I could have posted something myself, but I didn’t. But yet here we are. He made enough of an impression that, even though I forgot his name, I’m here writing about him. And so, House of Yes man, in hopes that you stumble on this blog and recognize that night and know that some girl out there wrote a blog post about a conversation you guys had at a club, I leave you with this, “I love you as certain dark things should be loved, in secret, between the shadow [of the internet] and the soul [of this blog post]” – Pablo Neruda.

Frances Ha

I watched Frances Ha tonight and I cried. I thought about my travels, my debt, my love, and my heartbreak. I thought about the jobs that never call back. I thought about the interviews that seem promising but never amount to anything more. I thought about the networking. I thought about my given up dreams. I thought about friendship. I thought about how so many people have it figured out. I thought about stability.

I thought about dance and love and dance. I thought about how I love more than anything is dance. I love dance more than any man I have been in a relationship with. I cried in therapy about not being able to find dance classes just as hard as I did for the men who have left me and for the parents who break my heart time and time again. I thought about how much dance has given me. How much it inspires me. How much emotion it evokes out of me. How much of an escape it has given me. Dance doesn’t disappoint. Dance doesn’t leave. Dance brings people together. You spin and you twirl and you get close and you kiss and you love. You let yourself be free, you express yourself, you get out whatever has been sitting inside you.

I’m going to leave you with a quote about love and life from Frances Ha because this is what I want out of life too , “It’s that thing when you’re with someone, and you love them and they know it, and they love you and you know it… but it’s a party… and you’re both talking to other people, and you’re laughing and shining… and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes… but – but not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual… but because… that is your person in this life. And it’s funny and sad, but only because this life will end, and it’s this secret world that exists right there in public, unnoticed, that no one else knows about. It’s sort of like how they say that other dimensions exist all around us, but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s – That’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess.”

Thanks for reading readers.

Because I’m Also a Terrible Person in Modern Dating

Dear readers,

You’re in for such a treat. I’ve been writing so many blog posts this month. Maybe it’s the depression. Maybe it’s because I’ve been crying a lot for the past 2 weeks. Maybe it’s because I’m avoiding a talk instead of having the talk and just playing out terrible scenarios in my head. Until that point let me write to you about a guy that I was seeing who I meant to have a talk with after a couple dates and was the terrible person that I am and didn’t.

It happened when I was visiting my friend in NYC. I went out for drinks with her and her roommates and friends. We got some blue drinks with colorful umbrellas. Those drinks that the bartenders roll their eyes because they’re a hassle to make and they’re already busy. Those drinks that even though they’re a hassle to make and you’re either going to tip extra out of the guilt the bartender made you feel with that look in his eyes or tip a dollar because that’s all you tip on a drink that costs seven dollars. Those delicious obnoxious drinks. So we had one and took a picture with one. She had a lot of her close friends there and I got to talking to one. He was really nice, we talked about work, he talked about how he knew about the city I was living in because he was working on a case that dealt with a lot of the state law. We chatted for a while and then some old friends who I hadn’t seen in a while came through and I left to go chat with them. As the bars got crowded and as we decided to go into a different bar I stood outside talking to my old roommate, my friend’s roommate, and this new guy, Kyle. I thought Kyle was cute and smart and even though he usually stayed out later he left early to go get some sleep before supporting their mutual friends in the marathon.

I hadn’t really dated that past year. There was a person here or there but that was about it. I was still pretty heartbroken over ending things with that long distance guy. It was hard to move forward and put myself out there. The times that I did, I usually didn’t like the dates I went on or gave off a vibe of not wanting to be there. But I wanted to get to know Kyle. I told my friend that I would like to see him the next time I was in the city and the next few times I visited he was out of town. So finally right after new years, I went to my friend’s apartment. He came over. We watched some broad city and then when she went upstairs we continued to talk. We talked about books and art. I can’t remember everything else we talked about but we were so tired we just both wanted to go to bed. As he left he got my number and we planned to have breakfast the next morning.

The next morning came, he texted me and we went on all day date! We got breakfast, which turned out to be lunch at a sit-down restaurant. We talked about politics, social justice, books, art, dream, not dreams, and other things I cannot remember. After we went back to the apartment, grabbed my friend who I was staying with and went to an exhibit at the Met Breuer. It was by the artist, Kerry James Marshall. Stop reading right here. Go google him.

You googled him? You fell in love with his work? Me too. My poor friend who third wheeled our date. Kyle and I took our dear sweet time going to each piece of art, examining it, talking about it, and discussing the meaning behind it. I was so attracted to his intellect. How much he knew. I guess I forgot to mention that he went to a pretty amazing Ivy League school. Basically, when I told my friends where he went, they told me to lock him down. After the three of us got some coffee, my friend left and Kyle and I walked through Central Park. It started raining a little bit and then we went to a castle in the park. That’s right, NYC is so amazing that they have a mother fucking castle in the middle of the mother fucking park. Talk about design. So we went in to escape the rain and just overlooked Central Park and NYC in the rain and took it all in. I don’t remember exactly how it happened but we had a lull in our conversation and I ended up kissing him. And we kissed for a little bit overlooking the grey city. And then he said nicely, that we should move on since it’s a little strange to make out in such a public place. So we got on the subway still chatting, saying how we had a nice time, he got off, and I went to my dinner in Brooklyn.

We texted here and there and a month later when I went to NYC we went out to dinner. We got sushi, chatted, got something sweet (aka I got something sweet), sat on a park bench and talked about family and other random things I don’t really remember. Just watching the cars go by, people watching the people in NYC, and I had other plans so we went to the subway, had a kiss goodbye and I went to my next event.

A month later I came back and invited him to go to a friend’s concert. What I didn’t realize was during these events, ALL my friends show up. And at that point, all I wanted to do was talk to them. And I felt bad because I felt like I had to be by him (even though he was really great and social and talked to other people and made a new friends). He went out with me to a friends apartment, went to Brooklyn with me to a different friends apartment, we made out in the hallway, I told him that the next night I would want to actually just spend time with him, and then went back into the apartment because I just really wanted to sleep… And I don’t really know why I did the next thing that I did…

The next day came and maybe it was the lack of sleep, a long work week, or thinking about how all I wanted to do was go the concert and see my friends. I wanted to spend time with my friends, I think, was the core of it all. He texted me about plans to go dancing and get tickets to a venue… And I bailed and told him I just wanted to see my friends. I had explicitly told him that I wanted to spend the day with him literally 8 hours before and there I was, taking it all back, hiding behind my phone. It wasn’t right. He texted back saying Ok, I understand and left it at that. I ended up going to a bar for a friend’s birthday, my phone died, I was exhausted, I got drunk, I went back with my old roommate and walked to my other friend’s apartment that I was staying at, charged my phone, turned it on. It was 3am and our mutual friend had texted me asking what I was doing and to come out. I told her I just got in and fell asleep. The next day I got drunk at brunch, slept it off, and drove over hungover back home.

The next time I went to NYC I told him I wanted to explain myself and get coffee. He said he was making plans and I told him to not make plans considering me because I might not be able to make it. A friend was around who got married and I barely saw him so I wanted to spend time with him and our other friends. We all went to Central Park, tried to find the sun through the sun lens he got for his telescope, my old roommate and I got dinner with our other old roommate, and I drove home.

I think about why I did that. I think about why I did the same shitty things to him that happen to me. I think about how stressed I get trying to see everyone in NYC everytime I go in. I think about how I carved out this time for him and then ultimately, did I feel like he was another person I had to add to the list of people to see? Did I imagine that we had to do long distance? I thought about how I make up these scenarios instead of taking it slow and seeing where it led. I thought about how much effort he would become to see him everytime I came in. I thought about how to make him a part of my friend group. That’s not fair. That’s not fair that he felt like a chore. That’s not fair that I got stressed instead of excited. I still one day want to explain myself to him. I hope one day I can. Until then I’m going to continue working through whatever mess of a personality I have and make myself a better person. A person doesn’t deserve to be treated like that, or to have someone be flakey on them. I’m part of the problem in today’s dating world….


It Is A Risk To Love

Dear Readers, this is a blog post I started about a month and a half ago when I was angry, anxious, and tired. I started therapy this week to talk (aka cry) through it. I decided to complete this post with some afterthoughts but the first part is my anger manifiesting in words and then transitions into present me reflecting. Enjoy :

I’m really angry over a very trivial thing. The guy I was seeing a while ago is going to a festival with our friends. A festival I had talked about going to, saved money for, did not get a ticket to, accepted not going, planned another trip, and found out one of our friends sold his ticket to him. A festival where I gave money to one of the installations because even though I knew I wouldn’t see it, I wanted to see it built for others. A festival that makes me so angry with myself that I am angry over it because it’s a white privileged thing and I’m complaining for no reason. I am angry that when we ended things he said he would try his hardest to be my friends and put an effort in. I am angry that after our last phone call and he said we should do this again and that I never heard from him again, outside one text telling me a book recommendation I gave him was actually good. I’m angry at myself for thinking I need to put in effort instead of just giving myself space. I’m angry that when I think I have moved on, something stirs me and I get pissed off and cry. I’m angry that it’s been months and I shouldn’t get as upset over as something as him going to a festival. I guess I’m most sad because I knew that when we ended it, we would never be friends and all those years of friendship were gone, never to come back. I’m angry with myself that I thought that sleeping together and seeing each other was worth sacrificing the friendship we had.

I’ve been thinking lately about the past guys that I have been with that reach out to me. Said person in the last paragraph texted me a couple weeks ago and we talked on the phone. It came out of nowhere. He heard I was angry and reached out. When we talked on the phone, I mentioned I had just come back from a vacation visiting a guy I had met. He told me that if I was happy, he was happy, and then got quiet and didn’t contribute to the conversation as much. He asked me if I was serious with him. He asked me questions, I myself don’t know the answers to. And then his phone died and I haven’t heard from him and won’t hear from him. I got to thinking about how recently a lot of the guys I was in past relationships have felt the need to reach out to me.

One is in a new city, away from his friends, and reached out to me because he, at that point, was having trouble making friends and felt like an outsider. I talked to him about it, told him about my fears and anxieties about finding a new job and moving. But I thought. You’re still with your girlfriend. You’re doing long distance with her. You are in a relationship with her when you clearly told me you didn’t want to be with me… Why are you texting me about this? Am I too forgiving? Why do I feel okay letting these people back into my life to discuss their problems? Am I too willing to listen?

I had a guy who really hurt me, and granted we resolved everything and even started to hang out before I moved away, reach out to me. But his texts were telling me how great his life is, how his job is amazing and he was saving lives, how the relationship he is in is going super well. And that’s it. No inquiries into how my life is going or how my relationships are. It’s almost like him saying, Hey I’m doing super and I want you to know how super I’m doing but it’s a lie and an act and I don’t know how to express what I’m actually feeling and if you’re doing well then I’m going to say I’m doing well and if you become vulnerable that’s when I may try and say things aren’t going the way that they are actually going. But that’s speculation. I haven’t heard from him and I don’t intend to hear or talk to him. How we left it when we both moved was enough. I had even told him that I had accepted that the last time we saw each other was the last time we would ever see one another. I had come to terms and peace with it. Maybe he took it as a shock and didn’t think that it was it. Idk. Life and relationships are tricky. It’s tricky to know who matters and who should stay and who to really develop a relationship with. Who to become vulnerable with. Who is worth the agony of when they leave after you’ve been vulnerable with them. But that’s life. You have to put yourself out there. You have to be willing to get hurt. There’s no hiding. If there is hiding you become comfortable in hiding. It becomes harder to leave the safe place you know is protecting you. If you hide you lose yourself.

A quote that hangs over my mirror says, “It is a risk to love, what if it doesn’t work out? Ah, but what if it does?” It’s a quote my friend gave to me on an index card junior year of college. It has hung on my mirror in every place I have lived since that moment. I look at it. I take it in. And I take that risk. It has hurt me. A lot. But I can’t imagine a more powerful feeling than knowing you have loved someone.

Dear reader, thanks for reading my messy thoughts.