We sat on my bed with the poorly timed, “I’d do anything” by Simple Plan playing from Spotify in the background.
My throat felt tight and dry while my cheeks were wet. It was easier to focus on my grey-blue sheets than on her light blue eyes.
It was all going to end before it had an official beginning.
We shouldn’t have let it start. Our emotions on our sleeves betrayed us.
The justifications to ourselves should have been that first sign that this was wrong. Cuddling during the day is as friends, right?
There we sat, with ill-timed music as white noise, on my bed.
We didn’t have any other choice.
It was mutual when I saw her eyes water, and then covered my face with my hands to try and stop my own tears.
They say that you don’t know what joy is until you’ve experienced sadness. But what if that happiness brought on the sadness? Is there a saying for that?
While scrolling through Tumblr, I stumbled on the following post that made me stop. I stared at it for several long minutes. Reblogs are an easy way to denote if people identify with a piece or not. And this one had a considerable number that I couldn’t scroll past.
Over a million people feel the same way as user fluerly. And when searching “love fears,” other posts similar to this one rise to the top.
People are afraid to love, and to be loved. Its scary. The act of putting your fears aside to take a risk is daunting. In my attempts to not be afraid of heights, I’ve climbed trees until I can look down and not feel like I’m going to throw up. But it took me a long time to consistently reach a height that didn’t have an adverse affect on me.
Risks help you grow. They’re a key point in your character development arc. Your whole life is that arc, however some parts are more poignant than others.
Admittedly, the risk to love or be loved might end in heartbreak. But you’ll grow from that experience, even after the pain fades. However, there’s also the possibility that good comes of the risk.
I hope fluerly realizes they’re not alone in their fear.
“I’d rather regret the things I’ve done than regret the things I haven’t done.” – Lucille Ball
A friend recently went through a break-up with his girlfriend of two years. He cites that they had been distant as of late, but wishes there was more he could have done to try and fix things before this point.
For the past few weeks since the break-up, we’ve had several talks. Lately they were about closure; is it too soon, how to talk about it with the ex, etc.
I am the last person to ask for advice.
My experience with serious relationships has totaled a span of 3.5 months with two people over the course of a year. This has been between accepting myself as grey-asexual, and then coming out on my mostly defunct Youtube channel.
The first person I dated, I broke up with him because I was going through a lot of personal things. One of those being my sexuality, and other areas of self-acceptance that have to do with my estranged father. It’ll be nearly three years since we dated this October, and we’re much better friends than we were significant others.
The second person I dated, she broke up with me after 2.5 months. We’ve never hashed out what exactly happened. After a year of working together on a club executive board, we’re friends again. I’m guarded about our friendship because I don’t want to upset her significant other.
In the middle of the night my mind drifts to these two people. And then further to the things we never said, or the feelings I never voiced to them or to anyone.
Its easy to have spoken regrets. Sometimes your mouth races ahead of your brain, and you can’t take back what’s already spilled out. The clean up crew of apologies launches on aisle seven to try and salvage anything.
And then I’ve reached the downward spiral of unspoken regrets. Expressing myself to him instead of locking everything in my head, or inviting her to dinner more than I did. The list could probably circle the Earth a few times.
I’ve come to terms with those. And maybe a few others.
A part of life is accepting both forms of regret.
It hasn’t been easy. I’ve worked on letting things go. We’ll see how that works out for me.
It was a strange moment to be standing parallel to her. The minister was present, along with my mom and our friends.
Our proposal had been sudden. And silly, involving her hiding the ring in my pocket.
My heart beat so hard I couldn’t hear anything else. All I wanted to do was stare at her in the simple white dress. Erin looked how a bride should, in every sense that cliche phrase implies.
And there I stood in my sweatpants.
Yes. I was wearing sweats. Strange, right?
Yeah, I thought so too. I woke up thinking it was an incredibly odd dream. Even more so when taken into account I am the most single person out of my friends.
Dreams are strange. They create vivid experiences that keep you asleep or startle you awake in a cold sweat.
I could research into what my psyche is trying to tell me. Or I could have a funny story to tell my friends.
I don’t know who this Erin is in my dream. Are you real? Do we have a future together? When will we meet?
If you are real, I hope that when we do meet, and if we have a future together, that I’ll feel the same way about the real you as I did about the dream you.
Otherwise, I’ll continue to dream on.