Hypothetically speaking, of course.

In the spirit of the original concept of Boys Say the Darndest Things, I'd like to share some things that a lover said to me this past weekend.

S: "What if, hypothetically, I was in love with you?"

S: "I need to find out what this new girl is about. I like you both, and have a good connection with both of you."

S: "If you lived in PA, I'd want you to move in with me."

S: "I'm just confused and I don't know what I want with you, if anything."

S: "Did you ever really believe that I wasn't in love with you?"

S: "I thought that feelings would develop over time, but this is all coming at me too fast."

For the past few years, I haven’t believed in love; at least not in the romantic context. I love my family and my friends, and I’ve even loved some of my boys. But I was never entirely sure that there was another kind of love, even though many people claimed to feel it. To me, it always seemed that non-platonic love was merely an emotion we confused for love. Perhaps a euphoric state resulting from the endorphins of sex, a chemical lie our brain told us and we optimistically believed. Or maybe love is a reminder that there is something worthy within us. We see good in ourselves because someone else has acknowledged it, and so we feel confident, validated, and happy. Or conceivably, we fake love to accomplish what we want. High school boys love to employ this tactic, and I myself am ashamed to admit having used it. Or possibly we’re just in love with the idea being in love. Suddenly no longer alone on Valentine’s Day, guaranteed a date for every horrific summer wedding, no longer considered a single social oddity. Love, not because of the person, but in order to reach some arbitrarily determined goal. Admittedly, we are a culture very uncomfortable with single people and being alone. Don’t deny it. If a single 45-year-old man moved in next door to your family, you’d automatically think he was a child molester. For these reasons, I’ve always considered love to be a terribly selfish emotion. Love to feel happy or gain social acceptance because you can’t any other way. And isn’t selfishness a direct contradiction of the essence of love?

Knowing that people actually do confuse love with the aforementioned scenarios, I lend myself to being in love. And I'm a fucking idiot for doing so.

The Mess We're In

Something old has become something new, and I feel as though I am obligated to report the transition. Of course this means providing context.

I originally met Steven 350 days ago (I know due to blog posts). If you'd want to read about our encounters, check out August 8th and February 24th. In the beginning, our interactions were simple: we talked on occassion, and spent the night in a hotel once for a ridiculous amount of sex. Neither us wanted commitment, or really anything much more than that night in the hotel. It's a concept that some people might refer to as 'no strings attached.' Now, what have we learned about strings? Some strings disappear into the top of my pajama pants, never to be heard from again. Other strings develop over time, and if you aren't careful, you wind up tied to a sinking ship.

I teased him for abandoning free love when he moved in with one of his lovers. They eventually became something of a serious item, which resulted in a barrage of taunts from one sanctimonious hussy. That being said, he was generally supportive during the Buffalo affair, and spent the weekend afterwards sufficently distracting me.

Now, I feel as though there is more to the story than can be described in a synopsis of our interactions. Steven fascinates me, and he terrifies me, because unlike my other conquests, I feel as though he is an equal. To use a terrible metaphor, our relationship is a strange dance, a delicate force that must be kept in perfect balance. He takes one step, and I must make the cooresponding one. If we disrupt the balance, who knows what could happen.

Several things have tipped the scale during the last few months. First, his girlfriend moved out, signaling an imminent end to their arrangement. Second, the sex got exponentially better. Third, I slipped up. He took a step in by granting me access to his own blog archives. I should have taken a step back, and comfortably distanced myself from the situation. Instead, I perused entries for mentions of me. Aside from the occassional humerous quote from me, I am all but vacant from the record of his life. There are now three entries dedicated entirely to him here at Boys Say the Darndest Things. He asked me what I thought of his blog, and I should have remained reserved. Instead, I blurted out the truth. It bothered me that he had meant something to my life, and that I had meant very little to his. And it bothered me because I had broken my cardinal rule; I developed feelings for someone I was sleeping with.

Despite all logic, the nature of our relationship, and our shared philosophy on sex, the feeling is apparently mutal. And so here we are; the mess we're in. At the moment, very little has changed, and yet everything seems to have changed.

The city sunset over me.