Once upon a time, when I was a young girl, I believed in true love. I believed in The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast and Sleepless in Seattle. I held onto the idea of these values, the idea of true love.
My first boyfriend, J, was older. About ten years older. He was charming initially- he took me out to dinner and shows and would surprise me. He was truly the epitomy of chivalry. And then he turned into an alcoholic, mentally abusive fuck.
My second boyfriend, D, was my age. A smart “Hahvahd” boy, he seemed to have empathy for days. Except when it came to his girlfriend. When he met my dad for the first time (a very sick man), I almost melted due to his kindness. Fast forward a month- he was still really into being empathetic towards his patient, but it ended there. Girlfriend? What girlfriend? Only when it was convenient and the sex was good.
By the time I got to boyfriend 3, there really was no boyfriend to speak of. Just “casual sex” and occasionally he would pay for dinner. I convinced myself I liked him, but deep down I knew I didn’t give a shit.
At the time I had a great friend, R. He was probably perfect for me, however I couldn’t handle a nice guy or the obligations of a relationship. So, I hooked up with my best friend, convinced myself he was the one (newsflash, he wasn’t). I lost my friend R forever.
Relationships have since been flawed. My ideals of love are currently comprised of a mid day fuck and maybe a strong glass of wine.
Recently, I find that even this self preservation theory is here to bite me in the ass. I have fallen for my mid day fuck. I’ll spare everyone on the internet the dirty details, but just know that the situation is not ideal. Preservation at its worst. I have fallen for the unavailable, yet again. No one’s Cinderella story. I’m starting to believe Cinderella stories don’t exist.
… Love, I do believe that exists. Maybe not in everyone’s ideal way.