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Monday, November 7, 2016

Dude, I fucking love you

I remember thinking about how stupid love songs were. People don't feel like that, I thought.

Now every fucking song reminds me of him. How did I not notice that 75% of songs are about love? And it all feels so trite, yet so true.

His face, his eyes, his smirk flash between almost every thought. Sometimes I can go a few hours without thinking about him. 

Our situation is terrible. What the actual fuck am I thinking?

I don't know why I wanted to find this feeling; it's fucking awful. 

Even when I'm with him I sometimes get bummed because I know we'll be apart. 

He told me he loves me. A few times. 

I said the same.

We talked about how it's "too soon" to be saying shit like that. It is. It definitely is. But this wasn't a decision. 

I miss him in a way I've never missed anyone. It makes me feel like a bad son that I've never missed either of my parents even close to this much. 

Despite what he says and describes, I don't know if he really loves me the way I love him. The way that I'm in love with him—with who he is as a person. Maybe he does, and I'm still just chickenshit hiding behind my forcefield. 

I worry about his sexuality, about whether he's bisexual.

All of my friends are getting married. My brother just got married. I was so happy for them. But it also made me question my stage of life. 

I don't particularly give a fuck about what other people are doing with their lives, but I'm not wholly immune. We're not a group of friends anymore; we are becoming a group of couples—except for me. Little mushbrains are next. 
 * * *
I waited behind the wall with my friends and watched him face off against my friend Mark. This was the finals of the axe throwing tournament we were doing as part of the bachelor party. He stood, relaxed as fuck, looking fly in his unbranded black snapback. Damn, I thought, that's my dude. 

Mine. But he isn't really, I don't think. He told me he doesn't want to possess me, even though he does. We talked about being boyfriends or whatever, but I don't think we are. 

"I've never seen what I see in your eyes," he said. He does have a habit of always saying just the right fucking thing.

We don't really text very much. He calls me sometimes to check in. Yep, your life is still fucked up. How is your daughter? Great. 

Why can't I turn off this feeling? I'm usually so fucking in control of my thoughts and emotions. 

I tried to talk to my brother about it, but he didn't really get it. I asked him about his past girlfriends, about his experiences with love. It all sounded different. My brother was an idiot when he was young. 

I'm the idiot now, I guess.