i told my therapist abt u

I have been thinking about a certain boy whom I most definitely shouldn’t be thinking about, especially because as much as I’d like to believe he was ~special~ in reality he wasn’t. So remember “Adam” or my mans from Tinder, or how I’d like to refer to him now, as Philly Boy? Yeah, that mother fucker is just floating around my mind like a lost balloon, taking up space, when all I really want is to pretend he never existed. So I am falling asleep last night, and there he is, his big beautiful eyes just staring at me. It must have been far in the future or something, but there we are, hand in hand, going to some dinner event with his parents. Who in the dream looked just like him, and already knew me. Everything was perfect. I was wearing this pastel pink dress, and there were literal fields of peonies. Like come on, how much more dream world can it get, my favorite flower, the boy my heart (sorta, kinda, barely, idk) longs for, his family liking me, just the whole shabang. We sit down with his family, pink peonies all around us, and we’re all drinking red wine. I don’t remember the conversations, but I remember the feeling. Of absolute contentment and ease. It was hot, the sun was shining down, and it made his eyes look more green than hazel. Now you might be saying, shut the fuck up, this was a dream, you don’t remember that, but honey, do I. Sometimes my dreams are quite scattered, blurry, a mush of pictures I can’t understand. Other times they are more vivid than life. I wake up and I feel like the dream must have been real, that everything that happened, happened, and there is no way it could’ve been a dream. This one, was like that. Nothing was really happening, nothing bad, nothing good, just simple conversation with this boy. Then all of a sudden he looked at me, his big saucer eyes staring directly at mine and he shook his head and told me he had to leave. I asked him why and he wouldn’t answer, just got up and started walking away. The dream version of me is definitely more dramatic than I am (I guess???) and starts running after him, he turns back once, then disappears. I am standing there in the field of my favorite flower, all alone. Then all of a sudden I am awake. laying there in between mountains of pillows and shivering because I turned my AC up far too high (sorry roommates, that electric bill will be a hefty one), and Philly Boy just a far off distant memory, dream, idea whatever you’d like to call it. I woke up and all I wanted to do was fall back asleep. Close my eyes, and see his dumb face again, but I turned my body, kicked a blanket to the ground trying to see it all again, but the dream had faded and wouldn’t reappear. I finally get out of bed, but couldn’t stop thinking about this guy. I mean our last interaction was incredible, at least I thought so. We danced through the night, fucked on my porch, took a goddamn shower together. Through the water slipping down our faces, he placed his hand on my cheek and told me how much he liked me. TWO DAYS later he tells me he can’t do this, blah blah, ends things, not that it really was much of anything, and barely explains himself. I mean in my dream, this guy was perfect, everything was perfect, but in reality, he’s not, nobody is. In reality, he’s some guy, some guy that I don’t really know, who I happened to ~connect~ with, and have good sex with. Besides that, what do I really know about him? What does he really know about me? I think if asked, he could tell you that my favorite liquor is whiskey, and that’s about it. We don’t know each other, yet when he left, when he told me “he couldn’t do this” I felt so god damn sad, I felt heartbroken. I felt like the second I got drunk I would text him, which I of course did, and which he of course did not respond. I mean every time I saw this kid, which I might add was ~technically~ twice, out of the past year of knowing him (HA), we were NOT sober, quite the opposite. So how can my heart, my stupid stupid heart, feel this much for some guy I ~hardly know~ ? Truthfully I don’t have the answer for you. My wonderful/amazing/helpful/ NECESSARY therapist likes to believe it’s all because of the drugs and alcohol and being completely obliterated most of our time together. And yes, my (well not MY) Philly Boy was the hot topic this week with my therapist, but so was that blonde haired beautiful man I saw on the T who definitely was giving me the eyes, so it’s really not that special. Anyways, doing drugs, getting drunk, having an experience, while not sober, may of course make things seem a whole lot more extraordinary. It may make you feel like you are on top of the world, and the person in front of you, that happened to be Philly Boy, is the love of your damn life. But MAYBE just maybe if we had been sober, I wouldn’t have felt the same way. If I hadn’t been ~messed up~ on each of our encounters, maybe I would’ve seen it for what it was, a hookup, a guy I met on tinder, who was looking for some summer action, not some amazing guy, that my heart and my head just couldn’t explain. But then again, I can’t live on maybes, I can’t pretend that’s what happened, I can only feel how I am feeling and go by what actually happened.

Don’t get me wrong, looking at it logistically, I do agree with my ~therapist~ in saying that the booze, the drugs, they had something to do with my elevated emotions, sure, but the feelings that I felt when I looked at him, when I heard his voice, when he just gently touched my hand, those were all real. That moment we were standing there, naked in the shower, I wanted to tell him I fucking loved him even though I barely even know what that means. But I don’t care if I don’t know everything there is to know about him and he doesn’t know everything about me, what I do know is how I felt for him, was different, was fucking intense, and it hurts to know that it’s over. I guess, whatever we were, was easy for me, he lived states away, so it never had to be real. We never had to fight, he never had to see me cry, he never made me cry (well he did), he never was there when I was sick or hurting, or when I was mad and angry at the damn world. He saw this ~perfect~ version of me and I saw this ~perfect~ version of him, but that’s not real, that’s complete and utter bullshit. We were an ~almost~, we were an idea, this sought after thing that wasn’t fake by any means, but definitely wasn’t real. An in between, a time in limbo, that could’ve/maybe/possibly been fucking amazing, but we never actually got even close to obtaining it. We didn’t have to try or put a lot of effort, because we weren’t together, we would talk sure, and tell each other how we felt, and when we saw each other, everything else stopped, but  that’s not real, that’s not a relationship, that’s some fantasy.

I can sit here and wonder what would have happened if he lived here, wonder if we actually had something real, something tangible, something that one could call ~a relationship~ or ~love~, if it would’ve even worked out. We probably would’ve fought (I mean everyone fights),  he probably would’ve hated how messy I am, and how I avoid doing the dishes. He probably would’ve hated the way I sit in bed all day when it’s raining or the way I cry at pretty much any movie I see. I probably would’ve hated if he snored, or if he forgot to put the toilet seat down. In the end maybe we would’ve gotten married, had 2 children, and spent our lives together in a house in Vermont. Or maybe he would’ve broken my heart, cheated on me with some skinny/tall/sorority girl that is more his type anyways. But  you know what, I’ll never know. It sucks, because I don’t like to not know, I don’t like admitting defeat, but in this case, I have to, it is simply the reality of the situation. I can sit here wondering forever about what would've happened, what could've happened, fantasizing about some amazing future spent with this so called ~perfect guy~or I can just face the damn facts. We never got to the real stuff, and we just never will. As much as I liked him, as much as I still like him, I can’t sit here wondering about what could’ve happened, or what would’ve happened. What happened was he left, he ended ~things~ (ha again, we WERE NOT dating, I like to be dramatic), and I was left with my heart hurting. I wish things weren’t so brutal, I wish they were some fantasy or were simply the dream I had, where we held hands walking through fields of my favorite flower, he kisses me on the cheek, and we sit there watching the sun go down and we never leave. But that’s not real life. That’s an ideal version, a dream, a fantasy, a far off idea, a god damn rom com movie plot. Sure in a perfect world, that perfect version of myself and of himself that met, could’ve been great, but we never got to see the other parts of each other.  I mean, to be honest, I wish he loved me, sure, I wish things worked out, and that maybe he felt all those stupid feelings I did and we got to the part where it was real. I know that if we did I would’ve loved him with my whole damn heart, especially the parts that weren’t in my dream, the parts that weren’t ~perfect~. But when it comes down to it, as amazing as the experience of just meeting this guy was, I would rather have something real, something concrete and tangible, something that existed, than some bullshit fantasy. I want the fights, and the passion, I want the stupid little arguments about who is gonna do the dishes. I want to be sober and walk through the park on a sunny day. I want for him to see me sad, mad, happy, tired, sick, all of it. I don’t want to be in some made up fantasy, some ~almost~ perfect, ~almost~ actual, I want something real, and Philly Boy was not it. I still will wonder what could’ve happened with him, but instead of hoping and wishing and my heart yearning for this imagined world with him, I won’t look at him as some prince charming who is the love of my life, but as some guy who told me how much he cared about me and than left me on fucking ~read~.