Who doesn’t like
the rush when they realize someone is starting to like them? Jesus
fucking christ though, that doesn’t mean all either party is ever
thinking about is sex. Sex is trivial, just icing on a cake, and
usually a rather tiring job if you’re doing it right. I could
explain this to someone ten million times, and they won’t get it.
Why do I love my people are songs analogy so much? When I listen to
American Idiot, it doesn’t mean I still don’t get a rush or
appreciate any less when B.Y.O.B comes on. The only way I can love
someone or something is like a song. I had my one and first naive
experience and frankly refuse to go back there. Unlike the masses I
frequently criticize, I choose to learn and grow from the things that
happen to me. I do not believe in “love” which is conditional. I
do not accept that our unconscious chemicals which fuel such emotions
discriminate between people who make you happy as long as they
continue to do as such. We all need other people to be there for us.
I won’t refrain from getting what I can from many close friends for
the sake of one person I’ve deemed with some exclusive title. And
again, this does NOT mean sex. The whole point of finding people you
can care about is so that it doesn’t feel like some dragging
obligation when they are in need. The second it does, you are lying
to yourself about what you can and can’t do for them. Being friends
and someone being there for you are not mutually exclusive.
I did not say that
if you loved me you would suffer knowing that I was fucking other
people then be perfectly happy when I came to your room afterwards to
sleep. First, the reference to coming back to your bed was an
allusion to your words and your scenario, not an actual theorhetical
situation. Second, I said you would suffer because I know the
feeling. Third, I would not be “perfectly happy” as you so
crassly put it by making an overtly dick move like jumping into your
bed afterwards. I explained to you what I felt and how I act, and if
that doesn’t mean “love” or aspects of “love” or are
completely retarded and not significant at all, then it’s your
fault for not telling me. You want to talk about predictions? Again,
I’m the idiot. I’m the one who warned you, read how you acted,
and chose to carry on anyway because like a prodigal idiot I took it
for granted that you could be honest instead of dramatic. You don’t
keep me happy. I am happy. You just provide your personal way of
molding that happiness into something I can only get with you. That’s
the most I can ever recognize from people. That’s the best and what
I regard as the greatest honesty and “love” I can express.
Caring only goes too
far? If caring means I have to suffer my personality for the sake of
trying to fake something, then it’s a good thing it stops there. I
could never be there for you? On moving day or when your balling your
eyes out after a drunken binge? Your expectations are easy. Everyone
falls in love and carries on in it with the fumblings of a four year
old and their shoe laces. I’m the one with high expectations. You
know, honesty, recognition, self-control, and an ability to choose.
Maybe a tattoo on my forehead that screams “I don’t care about
the sex” is enough for you to get over yourself and understand me.
There is not metaphorical middle between sex and caring for someone.
Your the only one who’s making this distinction, and trying to
squeeze me into a little box you can get angry at easier.
And by the way, that
look of disdain was at the idea of me so quickly changing and knowing
you’d understand why it wouldn’t work. I do believe I said,
“fine, let’s be exclusive and watch how it fails.” You didn’t
just want to put yourself on the radio, you wanted to delete the rest
of the songs on my ipod, computer, and hard drive. Ah, but you don’t
want to be just a song do you? You want it to be
something special by keeping it exclusionary. Well
news flash, no one has all if any of the things someone else does to
make them truly happy. I am nothing special except for decisions I
make as the entity Nick at any given moment. I am an overtly aware
shell who’s electrons can get excitable. You dont’ set me free,
you don’t make my decisions, and if you didn’t want to make me do
something I don’t want to do then you wouldn’t have the main
symptom of love that I hate the most.
