I’ve done it again. I came on too strong an ended up chasing away someone that I cared about.
I don’t fall for people very often. Certainly not as often as I used to. I feel plenty of attraction of course, but that feeling of something bigger only comes once or twice a year and when it does I just lose control.
In person I’m not too bad, I think. In the presence of someone I care about I find myself calm and quite serene. It’s when you take them away and put a phone in my hand that things really start to go wrong. The worst part is that I know what I’m doing is wrong, I just can’t control myself. I can stop sending those texts or spilling out my soul.
The problem is not, as some will say, that I come across as desperate. The problem is I am desperate. I have a few real relationships to my name and most of them are questionable as proper relationships. My experience of high school romance was worshipping poor Mary Louise Sweeny from a far, without the fairly tale ending that the movies told me I would have. These days, as soon as something real becomes an option, I just revert back to that same little boy.
The truth is I love being him. I love caring so much about someone else that I stop caring about myself. There’s something pure
about that part of me that I never want to be without, even although having it will always result in tragedy. To lose that boy in me means to become something cold and mathematical. It means becoming a player that runs with a rule book or a “system”. It’s becoming a person that manipulates girls in to wanting him – no not him. He manipulates them into wanting the façade that he presents. I’m not sure which is more tragic.
I recently finished John Green’s “The fault in our stars”, it was a super book, about two teenagers dying of cancer, but finding love together. It just makes me long for my own little piece of true love that seems to have eluded me in my life. Of course real life is going to be harder. My good friend Paul recently broke up with the guy he’s been going out with, since long before I’ve known him. It must be hard. But at least he can look back at the end of the day and say he’s had something, even if it did fall apart. I’m curious if he would agree or not.
It’s a strange thing to write and tell the world these things. Some how writing it and putting it out there is cathartic. Maybe I hope that someone out there feels the same and can gain a feeling of kinship from it.
For now I’m going to watch some films and try and move on. “500 days of summer” has been watched, now onto “Eternal Sunshine”.