I have a propensity for old things. It’s like I’m forever stuck in a state of nostalgia for a time I haven’t really lived through. I like classic rock, retro fashion and explosions of colors. Simpler times, hand written letters, type writers and vinyls. I prefer leather-bound books to most of my friends. I like men old enough to be my dad and I like kids not at all. I mean not like I beat up kids or anything, just that I’d rather avoid their presence if possible. Baby talk disgusts me and romantic relationships are elusive and something ethereal. I’m not sure I believe in love. I have tried. Many times. Each time I present a different version of myself to the object of my desire. That’s not me being a phony, mind you; just whatever I’m feeling with that particular person.
I think I’ve veered off track a little here, but let’s see this train of thought to its logical end. There was this guy I was really into and he kind of told me I need “help”. I guess he meant psychiatric help, to deal with my “struggles and issues”, I had reigned it in quite a bit, I thought. I don’t know what that means and I didn’t have the guts to ask him. I don’t like playing games or being coquettish. I usually say what I feel and I try not to lie.
So, the point is this. I can’t get him out of my mind.He’s hurt me deeper than I thought was possible and I doubt I’ll ever be talking to him again, yet I can’t stop thinking about him. Why is love so hard?