Or hell. Maybe they do.
What they don’t tell you is that when it’s all said and done, when the dust settles and the thrill of exchanging I-love-yous has faded,
you’re dating a person.
Not an idea.
I mean, I have definitely heard that before, but I never really got it until now, with my current boyfriend.
For the first time in my life, I am dating a man, not an idea.
Scratch that. I’m not even dating a man, because a man is still an idea.
I’m dating a person.
I’m dating another person.
I’m dating a person who farts and scratches and burps and pisses me off because he teases me about my hair.
I’m dating a person who is tired when I’m not, and who wants to have sex when I don’t.
I’m dating a person who promises me just 10 more minutes at work, then he disappears for an hour-and-a-half.
There’s this meme going around now, and it talks about love, saying something to the effect of “it’s harder to love those who are closest to us because the closer they are the more we see their flaws.”
Why is this so true?
Why is it that we see flaws like they’re under a microscope, while the good qualities fade away?
Why is it even true with ourselves,
or at least me with myself?
I even have an idea of myself that I seek to love, while often not voicing any of the things that make me a person (something that’s insanely detrimental as a writer).
I haven’t said a word since I left work tonight (8 hours ago). I literally haven’t opened my mouth to speak a word once.
That’s how lonely, how isolated, my life in Korea is some days. Things I should give voice to arise, and then they fade as my mouth stays clamped shut.
Self-reliance, I tell myself. No one here to depend on but me.
It’s an idea of strength that I want to love about myself while simultaneously starving the truth–that I need other people, that I’m lonely as hell–to death with disacknowledgement.