all hands on the bad one

that boy didn’t break my heart.

*i* broke my heart.

it took me months to understand what was happening.

all i want is to be emo.

presents. swing sets. rain days. vegan chocolate cake. train tracks. b-movies. kisses. blanket forts. haiku. mixed tapes. secret handshakes. hoodies. bathtubs. road trips. treasure maps. whispers.

simple.

if i really think about it, i have only ever been ‘in love’ once. i have loved many. made out with a hella lot more. but the inclination to be ‘in love’ with someone seldom comes. i had grown bored of merely ‘liking’ the people that i was kissing. i wanted something else. so i picked a target that seemed worthy. open fire.

what the hell was i doing? i didn’t even *like* the guy. what made me think that it would be a super-duper idea to hand him my heart piece by piece? it had been so long, i didn’t know how to choose a candidate. so i made the mistake that miikey and i like to call ‘falling in love with the resume’. he looked good on paper. social worker, politically active, loud, silly, lanky, awkward. all these things make it pretty high on my list of radness. and for this list, i traded 6 months of being jerked around (in a ‘can’t quite put your finger on it’ kinda way). i was told half truths, or nothing at all. i was made to feel that i was imagining things. my body was touched. no explanations were given. i made requests and received no answers. and at night, whether i had some other boy or girl in my bed or not, i fell asleep clutching that mythological resume. i waited for things to improve.

the mess that was made is not worth mentioning. my heart really was broken.

there are two things that were never understood between he and i:

- i did not understand that i wasn’t falling in love with a person that actually existed anywhere beyond my mind.
- he did not understand that my unconditional care and affection had nothing to do with his cock.

it has only been a couple months since i last hung out with him. normally, i am a slow learner and a slow healer. not this time. it almost scares me how rarely i think about him. i am not plagued by thoughts of what would happen if i ran into him. would i laugh, cry, puke, pretend that i don’t see him, yell, try to act nonchalant? it really doesn’t matter.

when jef sent me an e-mail. telling me that ‘the boy that broke my heart’ was nothing more than an insignificant blip in the adventure that is my life... i smiled.

blip. blip. blip.

choke hold, still unjaded.