I wish I was more attracted to you.
I didn't mean to freak out when the cashier called me "your lady". I didn't mean to slip back into the shambly pattern of awkwardness that has defined my life thus far. My face reddening, my heart seizing, I was faced with the awful, familiar panic that comes from facing uncertain romantic endeavors. You deserve more than that, and it gives me heart palpitations to place you in the dysfunctional game my head plays with my heart.
I could see myself one day loving you. Even for only a fleeting moment. Even in the most basic physical sense. Our story would be the stuff of airy wedding daydreams. Known each other since middle school, friendship blooming into something more, a fire stoked over thousands of evenings of Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones. A nerdy girl's fantasy come true. But right now, the thought of breaching that barrier would mean me ultimately using you, and it pains me to risk losing the kind of friendship we have.
You don't deserve the dismissal that everyone thrusts upon you. You're smart. Pop-culture-literate. Funny. Caring. Considerate. NICE. You manage to take the most dirty word in the dating gentlemen's world and make it endearing. Hell, you even have those baby blues. But while I register the vestigial edges of romantic feelings, I just can't reconcile the physical you.
Which is stupid. And shallow. And burns a thousand feminist hellfires within me when I think of the double standards placed upon my own gender. But still, that nagging doubt remains. I can't shake it, and I can't shake you. I know I'm not following the golden rule, and I can summon countless justifications in my mind. Every one of them superficial, toxic, constructed out of fear of ridicule and societal pressures. But in every bit of blame I place in the overarching media, I have to place the same blame in myself. Because the thoughts still crosses my mind if I would feel the same if you were 20 pounds lighter and 6 inches taller.
Writing now, everything I say seems petty and flowery, pseudo-intellectual and embarrassing. I hate myself for feeling this way, and it's tearing my insides to shreds. Once I finally find sleep, I may wake up with a new perspective, in a brighter tomorrow. In the mean time, I just hope that I can one day learn to appreciate you like you deserve.
I didn't mean to freak out when the cashier called me "your lady". I didn't mean to slip back into the shambly pattern of awkwardness that has defined my life thus far. My face reddening, my heart seizing, I was faced with the awful, familiar panic that comes from facing uncertain romantic endeavors. You deserve more than that, and it gives me heart palpitations to place you in the dysfunctional game my head plays with my heart.
I could see myself one day loving you. Even for only a fleeting moment. Even in the most basic physical sense. Our story would be the stuff of airy wedding daydreams. Known each other since middle school, friendship blooming into something more, a fire stoked over thousands of evenings of Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones. A nerdy girl's fantasy come true. But right now, the thought of breaching that barrier would mean me ultimately using you, and it pains me to risk losing the kind of friendship we have.
You don't deserve the dismissal that everyone thrusts upon you. You're smart. Pop-culture-literate. Funny. Caring. Considerate. NICE. You manage to take the most dirty word in the dating gentlemen's world and make it endearing. Hell, you even have those baby blues. But while I register the vestigial edges of romantic feelings, I just can't reconcile the physical you.
Which is stupid. And shallow. And burns a thousand feminist hellfires within me when I think of the double standards placed upon my own gender. But still, that nagging doubt remains. I can't shake it, and I can't shake you. I know I'm not following the golden rule, and I can summon countless justifications in my mind. Every one of them superficial, toxic, constructed out of fear of ridicule and societal pressures. But in every bit of blame I place in the overarching media, I have to place the same blame in myself. Because the thoughts still crosses my mind if I would feel the same if you were 20 pounds lighter and 6 inches taller.
Writing now, everything I say seems petty and flowery, pseudo-intellectual and embarrassing. I hate myself for feeling this way, and it's tearing my insides to shreds. Once I finally find sleep, I may wake up with a new perspective, in a brighter tomorrow. In the mean time, I just hope that I can one day learn to appreciate you like you deserve.
