I think that most people, regardless of gender, race, or sexual orientation, have that dream. You know which dream I’m talking about. One day you’ll find that person. The person who will complete you and travel through life with you. They’ll make it better. They will make life worth living. I think that most of us have this dream. Or had…

I realise that my writing has become very dark of late. When I started this blog I wanted it to be a light-hearted type of blog. I wanted it to be comical, but lately a lot of things have happened that are really terrible. And I’m also not really that funny.

I’ve dealt with a lot of loss this year and somewhere in the process of dealing with it my dream died. The dream that one day I too would find someone. I gave up. I’m not afraid to say it.

As I’ve said before, I’ve always been a loner. I’ve never had a lot of friends and my circle of friends seems to be getting smaller as I get older. I’m not the life of the party. I’m not the cool kid. I’m boring.

For the longest time in my life, being alone never really bothered me that much. Ever since I was a child I’ve been able to keep myself busy. But as I progress into my 20’s, I find myself occasionally longing for some companionship. More than just the companionship of a friend. I want someone to hold on to. Someone who isn’t going to go back to their lover and leave me alone.

I can’t say that I’ve ever had my heart broken, but it has been bruised. Earlier this year I came to my senses and realised that a certain guy that I really liked was going to keep stringing me along and never like me back. I woke up and told myself that I wouldn’t allow someone to do that to me again. But I did. And I didn’t even realise it because this time was different. He chased me.

There was a man who had been following me on Twitter for a while before he started chatting to me. In the beginning it seemed like he just wanted to chat (and I truly wasn’t expecting anything more), but he started chatting more frequently and later asked for my number. I started to think that it could mean something. We went for coffee, and experience has taught me to always expect the experience of another 30 minute love affair, but it wasn’t like that. We talked for a really long time. After that we continued to talk on social media. There were, of course, a few things that bothered me. He could go for days just blatantly ignoring me and at times be a bit critical of the things I like. But I told myself that he was busy, tastes differ, and that I shouldn’t be so needy. It’s not like we were dating. I shouldn’t be so annoying. I was the problem. It was me.

A while later he invited me to go and watch movies at his house. I love movies, so I said yes. But more than that, I wanted to see him again, as much as I hated to admit it.

The evening was nice. We watched movies. We talked. He put his arm around me. And then I made the big mistake. I let him kiss me. Of course I’ve kissed before, but each time I was smart enough to know that it wouldn’t  mean anything. This time I wasn’t so sure. I kept thinking:  What does this mean? I felt so safe and at home that I didn’t want to listen to the little voice of logic in the back of my mind that kept shouting THIS WON’T WORK. Because I wanted it to work. I really, really wanted it to work.

After that night I found myself in a strange mindset. I was thinking about him, a lot. Everywhere I went, I saw things that reminded me of him. I even wrote a poem for the first time in ages. I felt silly. I felt like by kissing me he had put me under some sort of spell that I couldn’t break. I hated the feeling of missing someone in that way. Needing him, even.

When I asked him about the direction that we were going in, he told me that he wanted to ‘take it slow’. When studying drama, you are taught about the incredible importance of the word subtext. That which is said beneath the words we say. The unspoken. I could hear the subtext in those words, but I deliberately ignored them.

Time went by and a lot happened. And in that time we started to speak less and less. And now we don’t speak at all.

I realize now that I was too young and too dumb to really know what was going on. He never planned to be serious with me.

And now that I think about it I get mad at myself. What was I thinking? What was I doing with a man 7 years older than me? Had I never seen this pattern before? He’s probably reading this (yes, you.) and laughing at me. Silly little boy. That’s all I am.

And so, in my process of grieving, I lay to rest my dreams of finding someone. Of course I’m not saying that it’s impossible. That would also be dumb. I’m saying that I no longer hope. I no longer dream. I’m focusing on my career. I’m focusing on all the wonderful things that I could accomplish and experience without a lover.

Because that’s what people do. We move on.


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6 thoughts on “The Death of Romance

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