Where did it all go? The passion, the
friends, the satisfaction. It seems like everything has a stigma. It isn’t
coincidence that I haven’t written since late May—I met a new boy: B*
To quote a mediocre poet “I threw him in
a fire”. Because it the pain was starting; I was beginning to like him in an
incredibly unreciprocated dynamic. I began to see the parts of the ex in him
that I hated: fear, hesitation, deficient of communication, withholding
emotion—he isn’t ready.
I’ve realized that people in their 30s
will always enter a new relationship with a full set of luggage. Every time I
date a new guy I’m dating a slew of women with whom he’s fucked. Women who
taught him, fought with him, loved and hated him. Then (depending on the
break-up) they become memories of a flawless goddess or a winged serpent devil
of a woman. Bradley has the former. I
spent all of my time competing with the memory of his four year long relationship,
and one cannot compete with a memory. Memories are perfect. My imperfections
reek. So in an effort to obviate another heartbreak, I withdrew. Let’s see if she’s got
any staying power, folks.