(Love) (In Parenthesis)

Don’t tell me that you love me. Don’t tell me to say it when you’re fucking me. Don’t tell me that you’ll always love me, especially when you secretly despise me. Don’t do that. 

I’ve had the week from Hell in more ways than one, and if anything it has taught me several lessons. I’ll only speak to one of those, and that is this: Don’t use the term “love” lightly. Don’t speak it lightly; don’t accept it lightly.

I made the mistake of accepting it from someone who claimed to have loved me from afar for nearly a decade. They even sent me a poem 8 years ago. All of this points to creepy, but bonus points for that person having nice looking eyes, at the time. They were head over heels, so I went in after them. That was Stupid Idea #1.

I put up with their endless kinks, and was willing to bend myself to their will, to what I thought was a reasonable extent (it was not reasonable), to fulfill them, and still somehow the “relationship” felt off. As I learned when I was nearly kidnapped in Paris, your gut is always right. If someone seems creepy/off, then you should back away… quickly.

I let myself become deluded, and infatuated, and enjoyed this idea of (loving?) them. Reality didn’t matter. Facts didn’t count. Actions were meaningless. I was in (love?) a bad state of mind. 

Nothing else seemed to matter, they asked to marry me! I didn’t even want that. I just knew I (loved) enjoyed being around that person more than I enjoyed air. What does breathing matter when the sex (seemingly) is good? What does water count for when their words (misleadingly) are solace? What does anything amount to when you’ve found the one (that you can possibloy tolerate for more than 3 months… you’re whimsical)?

I write this not to praise or shame that person (Lord knows, this is praise for that pathetic boy). I write this to say, I am enough. I am more than enough. I am an ample woman, and not just in the boobs department. To tell someone tirelessly that you love them, then stop speaking to them, rather than say, “Hey, this might not work out” the day after you confess undying feelings? That’s lame. I had a bad feeling so I was working on a #2, and then #3 and #4 afterwards (within days!) but, I had to publicize, at least for a moment, how pissed off I feel. Now I have to delete this before #3, whom I like the most, finds it.

Olav made me insecure about my feet.

That asshole.

Jk… I’m not that insecure about my finger toes and Olav actually didn’t have stubble. He just looked too much like a girl so I had to add it (everything but the stubble and accidental marinara sauce is totally true though).

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