My feelings for my boyfriend have absolutely perished. Currently, I’m at the airport waiting to board my flight back home to New York after a successful freshman year of college, and I’m arguing with my boyfriend, Marlowe, about something that happened last night. Actually, calling it “arguing” would be a stretch considering I give no f*cks about the conversation he’s trying to have with me. He’s essentially been talking at me for the past 2 hours in absurdly long paragraphs.
When it comes to men, I’ve always had a knack for one-sided relationships. Almost every relationship I’ve ever been in has been a product of an intense crush they’ve had on me that I’ve felt too guilty to reject. It’s a cyclical thing that’s always happened like this:
I miss him so so much. I can’t even begin to describe how much I miss him. It’s the fucking vignettes, I’m telling you. I’ve always wanted to have a movie perfect summer. I’ve wanted it to be rose colored and warm so that, in my memories, I’d always be smiling or laughing. They’d be the kind of memories that played to a road-trip pop song.
“He’s not a bad person, but he’s also not a good one. I think he tries too hard to seem mysterious and deep, but at the end of the day, he only thinks about himself. Also he’s just selfish and uncaring of other people. He’s good at making you think he cares, but he has no problem dipping whenever he wants. That’s the signs of a shitty dude. And I’m just pissed that you did so much for him and he’s doing this”
Raza is sleeping right next to me as I type. Tonight, Cameron, Raza, and I decided on a sleepover, so I get the comfy red couch, Raza gets the foldout black futon, and Cameron gets to cozy up in his bed. I hate admitting this, but I turned the brightness all the way up on my computer for a second, and turned the light towards Raza’s face, to see what he looked like all sweet and cocooned under the covers.
Don’t get this mixed up, though. I do not have feelings for him. Read More…
There’s this boy that I’d been sleeping with for a while– his name is Raza– and over the past week we’ve gotten really close. An important aspect of our relationship was intimacy, so before I debrief into my self-psychoanalysis, I want to cover the sex (sorry mom and dad).
It wasn’t always the best.
Thought I’d share a funny short update on Nicholas Henry Holiday here, for the three people on here who’ve been following my life.
If you want a refresher, rereading the preface (AKA my first three-or-so paragraphs) of my On College Loneliness and My First College Boyfriend post would give all the context needed for this.
It happened only twice, but when I would tell people my goofy stories of how Nick Holiday would unconsciously call me by a different girl’s name, they would be in absolute shock. Everyone was always more distraught about it than I was.
Taking a break from the long posts I’ve been writing, let’s have some light fun and reminiscing of the good moments I had in my life.
Nicholas Henry Holiday and I would sleep together nearly every night, and I quickly found out that he sleepwalks. There wasn’t a single night we slept together that he didn’t wake me up. I thought I’d share the first time it had ever happened to me.
Going into my freshman year, I was told that college can be a lonely time for us adolescents. Had you known me exactly one month ago, I would have disagreed: I had a rich, popular boyfriend, went to parties on the weekends, and had friends galore. If you had asked me a month ago from tomorrow, I would have one-thousand percent concurred.