Archie's Dump

I get it.

Granted, I’m only a 26 year old female presenting person, but despite that, I find myself always thinking about the future, and no matter how hard I try, no matter how many times I push it from my head, I always envision my future with a romantic partner.

I come from a long line of strong women that have had their spirits crushed time and time again by men they’ve chosen. The quote that often comes to my head is “your face is proof that you’ve been loved before”, but how true could that be? You’d think that after seeing the spirits of the women I love be crushed with small words and bigger actions that I would give up the search for a partner entirely.

And, you’d be correct to some extent.

I think I do a good job at distracting myself. I’m immersed in the work I do for my day job. I’ve recently found love in writing again. I write fiction and literature, I write things that I like to write about, and all of this couldn’t have happened without the love I found in my community, my friends, and in the support from my family.

And yet, despite fooling myself that I have it all and that I could never want a partner , I still yearn for that emotional connection. I think?

Let he who has not been scorned by Tinder throw the first stone…I’m waiting…

I suppose this is my fault. I swiped right on intuition, surely this man that I’m well familiar with would never have matched with me. I know he’s in a relationship with someone seemingly kind and immensely beautiful. He mentioned that anything was supposed to be casual and that all of this is the result of being in an open relationship. That’s good and fine! I don’t find myself caring in that regard.

But there is a certain level of grime, a sheen layer of filth that clogs my skin and wraps around my heart in a tight bind. I don’t like this man, not even in the slightest! For God’s sake, we had one conversation about books, made plans to see each other next week, and now I’m sat in the office wondering why he hasn’t replied, why he hasn’t spoken to me in the last hour. Is he talking to someone else?

Archie, you’re the someone else.

Ah. That’s right. Minor detail.

I’m the one that he’s texting in the middle of the night when his partner is fast asleep next to him. I’m the one sending him messages that he may or may not shield from her, the one he tells her not to worry about (when I’m nearly positive that I’ll never be something to worry about). I am the other woman, I am not the priority, the person to check on, the person to cherish…is that what I want?

Do I want to be second pick (or third, or fourth, or fifth)? Am I that deluded into thinking that I could change whatever it is that he felt for the person before me? This is to assume that they’re even together to that extent. Why are they in an open relationship? Are they taking a break? Did she get tired of him or vice versa? Why are you buying books that I love and reading them with so much affection and sending me notes in the margin the same way kids pass notes to each other in school?

I sit and I think, if I let this happen, if I let this continue, how does this benefit me? We’d laugh I’m sure, forced puffs of air pushed out of my lungs when really, I’m wiping the sweat off my hands and pray he doesn’t find an unfavorable angle of me. Best case scenario, I’ll have an awkward morning after, a kiss on the forehead that was a slip of the mind–an instinctive gesture meant for someone who has his undivided attention and care, not for someone he read a book for.

I lay in bed and I wonder if it’s a bad joke from the universe. It shows me the kindest man I’ve ever spoken to, someone that listens to my opinions and holds them to high regard, and the Universe dangled him over my head, a taunt to show what I could have, but someone else beat me to.

In retrospect, I realize that this jumbled mess of words is my worst anxieties realized. That I’m not good enough for a man or for a romantic relationship, that I’m not mature enough (which may or may not be true) and that I’m, in my core, one of the most insecure person in the world. My mind wanders and daydreams about any and every man that gives me the slightest of affection, and I run with it, that’s my issue.

Regardless, if next week happens, and I meet him, I’ll have a book tucked under my arm. It’s a book we both mentioned reading, and after he mentioned he treasures annotations, I figure there won’t be any harm in letting him read mine. Maybe he’ll learn something about me in the margins that I can’t see myself.