I remember being young and in love. And lucky for me *insert sarcasm here*, I’ve been agonizingly in love more than once. Each time was different. The first time I didn’t even like the guy initially. The second time, I was in love with him before I knew I was in love with him. And the last time, happened unexpectedly. Despite the differences, they all shared the same inconveniences. The same butterfly riots in my stomach. The same obsession of his name in my mouth and spilling out my ears. And ultimately, the same tears ridiculing me at the end along with a broken heart.
I remember Jey asking me once how things were with the guy I was seeing. I replied, “Good”. Good? I questioned the integrity of it immediately. Good. I waited. But no glitter fell from the sky. I didn’t abruptly get up to run on top of a hill to scream how much I loved him, and there was no butterfly riot in my stomach. I proceeded with, “I feel like I’m supposed to say more than that”. Then, he told me I wasn’t supposed to say anything.
He was right. And just like that, it was – good.
I kept thinking my new relationship was supposed to be a certain way. Thinking it was supposed to be fireworks on the 4th of July right after winning the war. It was supposed to be “premature ventricular contractions”. It was supposed to be texting my best friend all the emoticons I could find that resembled anything close to the “glitter and gay”. The roof was supposed to be on fire, and I was supposed to let the motherfucker burn. But I was right. It wasn’t any of those things. Continue reading