Yup. Now I get it. Hopeless romantic. Is. not. a. compliment. The line between thoughtful and sad? is getting blurry. Is she letting me wear myself out? It’s working. I don’t want to be her friend anymore. I don’t want to grasp your coffee straws. I am not a recurring compliment. Your ego is boosted now? This hurts.
So, I’ve cut out four beautiful flowers from National Geo., and pasted them to HD-wow backgrounds, and am contemplating sending her this bouquet…either one at a time over the course of a few days or all at once. The original thought was to do this when I go out of town in two weeks, but it’s becoming very apparent that I’m not going to make it two weeks.
*huge depressing amounts of backstory omitted*
Hopeless. She promised she was going to cut me loose of this uncertainty. It has been a week. Clearly time is passing differently for her. I need her to call/write/text and tell me I am the interloper and I need to go. But she doesn’t. So now I will have to tell her to tell me to fuck off. Because she is the adult with all the power, but I am the grown-up.
Or I send her the flowers and work on being a sane human being not totally infatuated with a straightish girl who spends 76% of her romantic energy on dude, who was once a friend but who now I can’t even make eye contact with because I want him TO GO AWAY. Can I work on building distance and playing cool and acting like I couldn’t give a shit, despite haven fallen on my knees and drunkenly professed my life while we stormed a castle in a snowstorm (last weekend) and intense victory makey-outey? Yet I act so cool already, like this isn’t killing me.
Going to Phase I Thursday night to see Hunter Valentine. Need to meet the next girl there. Poor next girl. She won’t be perfect like this girl. She won’t get what she deserves, she’ll get exhausted, too cool distance, tell your friends I’m fun to make out with and good for your self esteem but I can’t love you. You aren’t her. (Yes, way melodramatic hi I’m 15 but it’s got to be voided and if I keep running until I vomit my esophagus is going to melt.)
(Last night the older woman [late 50s] or so at the pizza place in NY was extra nice to me and held my hand when she gave me my change back – flirting a bit really. A really small gesture that is helping me not write off the entire fucking species right now).
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