It is with much regret and sorrow that I inform you of my failure to keep myself from falling in love. I have vowed to myself that I will never be played the fool again and that I will refrain from making the same mistake as I have before. I had been struggling for months, telling myself how inappropriate the match is, that I surely will find him immature and hard to handle, playing it hot and cold, but somehow there are instances when logic cannot hold full sway over one’s heart.
As always, the love’s probably unrequited. I say probably because I still don’t get it myself. He’d be showy with his affections and then pulling away the next, confiding secrets one moment then impregnable as a boulder a second after. In short, it’s the same old roller coaster ride where I twist and dash my heart unto the jagged rocks of hope, one false step away from desolation.
If I can just get over my fixation over holding his hands and forget that his touch is the warmest I’ve felt.
Argh. Hating it. Dying of it. And him looking at all the svelte, doe-eyed girls oblivious as a garden gnome. Or worse, he could be not oblivious to my feelings but he’d rather not do anything about it still.
Whoever invented romance should be hung upside down from a burning tree and smothered with honey whilst armies of giant fire red ants have their determined way with him.
The guy best friend’s 26th birthday party was held last Sunday in Ateneo. After six years, I met with his Mom again who’s also an avid book reader. I like to think she likes me, and I hope she thinks that if her son wasn’t gay, he’d be damn lucky to have me beside him. But oh well. That’s history.
I also met GBF’s current love interest. They met at the gym, I gather, and are now dating. It still irks me some that this guy whom I hung my hopes upon for 5 whole years and has been as relationship-less as a dung heap as I was can now date 2 –3 guys a year. And I remain making dopey-eyes at another boy who will probably live the next 60 years of his life happy he did not take his lot with me. Needless to say, I feel as impotent as a rotting eunuch when it comes to relationships.
Later that night, GBF texted me to say I made an impression on his love interest and that the guy thinks I have a nice aura. Thank you.
So why the fu-k am I still so single? I can beat Velveeta in the singleness of my cheesy singledom. If my best friend’s mom as well as his date think I’m such a slice of sunshine, why can’t this other boy, this garden gnome of a guy, see that for himself? And if he does see it, why not do something about it?
Oh, fu-k. I forgot. Gnomes don’t like sunshine. They like svelte, doe-eyed pink flamingoes grazing on the grass keeping their eyes to the ground, thereby not noticing the pudgy, glamour-less owl who can soar such heights by the sheer will of their intelligence.