Priorities

Sometimes we forget what's really important, especially when our relationships demand most of our attention and become our single microcosm.

Last Thursday was the end of whatever it was with Clarence. Part of it just seems to have rushed by without making much sense, but I'm not going to question my intuition to move on. I've found that moving on is rarely the wrong decision.

There were a bunch of friends over at Leonardo's (my best guy friend who until today I have not named.) We drank, played a little poker, played some Smash, and most everyone went into Leonardo's room to smoke. Clarence and I stayed in the living room, looking at our writing on his computer and talking about relationships.

We carry opposite definitions of love.

"It's loving someone unconditionally, even if they don't love you the same way. It's doing whatever they need for them."

"I don't really think so. I think love is when two people are complete, see each other's completeness, and want to share their lives. I don't think people in love are doormats."

I'm sure I offended him, essentially calling him a doormat within his last serious relationship. But I'm the honest type, and I aim to have real relationships with people instead of shallow relationships that have zero confrontation. I don't believe we're supposed to agree on everything with our friends. But this, doesn't this nail the lid onto the coffin? How can two people ever love each other, even eventually, if their definitions of love are polar opposites?

I explained to him some of my poems, and he told me I'm brilliant.

He told me that our sleeping together was the greatest expression of love that exists.

In retrospect, this is insanely dramatic. Especially for the altogether lack of seriousness on my part, lack of commitment on his part, and how we don't even have each other's numbers. Why was all this brought up? Why must it be brought up every time we see each other? It has occurred to me that I'm beyond tired of having the same conversation with the same conclusion to agree to disagree.

So 4am rolls around, and I don't want to walk home. As always. He says it's okay for me to stay with him. However, this time, I made the mistake.
THE MISTAKE
THE MISTAKE
THE MISTAKE


Meaning: told him I feel comfortable with him.
GOD FORBID I say something nice to him. Right? No one likes that.
GOD FORBID I feel comfortable with someone I see practically every weekend and have slept with multiple times and shared a dozen conversations with.

"Uh, you know we can't date. Right?"

Cue same conversation we have every time I sleep over there. It's a little more than blatantly obvious at this point that I don't want a relationship. Sometimes, he annoys me. Sometimes, I just like being alone. Sometimes, I'm happy we were absolutely nothing but something at the same time for approximately a month and a half and didn't feel pressure to text each other all the time.

I was happy the way it was. He felt guilty. I understand why he felt guilty, but he didn't understand me. I'm sure he still thinks I'm wanting to tie him down or ring hungry or something. But quite simply, I got frustrated in the middle of our second argument about the non-us of the night because he didn't even try. I was sick of being misunderstood. I was sick of him making everything into a blatant rebellion against God. I was sick of the drama.

Straw that broke the camel's back? That we weren't allowed to spend "one-on-one" time together anymore. That we couldn't call ourselves friends. That he put a pillow between us and refused to kiss me goodnight.

Rarely, do I ever leave a warm bed. Rarely, do I run when I'm supposed to.

I put my clothes on and he turned over, asking, "Wait, what's up...?" like he didn't know. How self-centered do you have to be to not know when an honest person is angry?

I walked out his door, walked out the apartment door, and cried the whole walk home at 5am. I know part of me was crying out of relief. Crying because I was so damn proud of myself. Crying because I wished so badly that he would go after me, acting like he even gave a fuck. Who doesn't get sad when they're proven right?

Ironically, I think one of the greatest human desires is to be proven wrong, to find exceptions, to find the one contrary to the stereotype.

Too bad I'm great at finding stereotypes.

The next night, I had a crazy stupid amount of fun with my friends. I realized that what's important foremost in my young life is simple happiness. It would be lovely if a relationship, or non-relationship, brought me that joy. But sometimes it doesn't.

I'd rather be simply happy than complexly "okay."