On One Hand

December 4, 2004

Atypical Romantic

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 3:28 pm
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I know I’m romantic, I spend so much time thinking about it, but I don’t think I’m the kind of person that everyone expects a romantic to be. Regular romance things: expensive dinners, wine, walks on the beach, movies, engagement rings, heart-shaped love letters, and weddings, just don’t intrigue me so much, and in fact, they turn me off.

I was talking to this guy online when I realized this. He lives in Manhattan right now, where I have always, ALWAYS wanted to be, and he’s intimidatingly successful for his age. He’s got all kinds of connections and does a lot of creative work. He lived here in Boulder for a while, and then left, for complicated reasons. He’s extremely attractive, open, honest, and has well thought-out opinions and values. He likes me more than I think he should, leaving me worried if his adoration would get in the way of us being cool friends someday, which I would much rather we be. I think I know what kind of infatuation he’s going through right now, as I’ve been through it before, and I honestly don’t know how to respond to it.

Well I can’t move to Manhattan, since even Boulder has put me about a thousand dollars in debt so far this year (and mind you I have a job and have spent about four dollars on entertainment since August), but that’s not the most prohibitive factor in the situation. Mostly it’s just that I don’t think it would work out in the way he wants it to.

When he talks to me, he describes the kind of relationship that he thinks we could have. He paints a picture of romantic innocence, the kind I longed for when I hugged my pillow like it was a boy when I was fourteen, where we cry on the other’s chest and cradle the other’s head in our arms through the night. That imagery accounts for what I’ve once been, but doesn’t account for how I’ve evolved, leaving the old pictures tinted brown, seeming cliche and corny. I look for a different kind of romance now, a deviant, edgy, experience-craving yearning for adventure that would satisfy not just my heart and body but also the postmodernist reality-hungry mind I’ve developed. I gave him my own version of a romantic story, which got cut off about halfway. It goes, “…and then we each pulled out a cigarette, and he lit mine, and he punched me on the shoulder and almost made me drop it in the snow. So I gave him the eye and pushed him back, and we both fell into the snowbank, laughing, with stinging, melting flakes speckling on our faces like tears in starlight.” Or, “we were both buzzed and walking home, stumbling over the wet rock-salted, dirty streets, and when we were near the bridge I looked at him and realized that he looks cute even in double. So I lunged and kissed him, biting his lip softly, numbed by alcohol, then started back remembering that I have a condom on my nightstand and asked him if he’s in condition to run because I can’t stand to wait long to get home.” Or, best of all, “he arched his back as I drew on his abdomen, long, thin lines and clever phrases across his bare skin. And I leaned forward to let him get to my back with the pen, the lesbian photographer in her cropped, red-dyed hair snapping pictures for the art show from every angle as we laughed and made sure our cocks and ass cracks were at least partially covered by the bedsheet.”

Maybe it’s this guy’s innocence that gets me. He doesn’t seem to have one alterior motive, a single wanton desire, any visible flaw or need. He’s just a bit egotistical, that’s all. I feel like if I picked hip up and held him I might break him. I know that seems utterly condescending, and I want to be anything but condescending to him, but I don’t know a better way to put it. I know I would want to fuck, I’ve never done it before and I can tell you right now that I’d want to, and it would be creepy to do so because I feel like he’s so much hotter than me. And if he agreed, him being a virgin, like me, and we did it, I will have corrupted him much more than I corrupted myself, and I would feel guilty. Though I feel bad when I fool around with someone I know is a slut, I don’t want someone innocent either. I need a partner to be on exactly the same page as me, as narcisistic as that might seem.

Oh, there are the practical barriers: he seems verry attachable and I don’t want that right now, he’s very high-class and I’m not, he’s in New York and I’m here. But there’s another reason I’m not running for this one. Maybe it’s just that the whole thought of running away seems outrageous to me, too fairytale far-fetched, while I would never in my life ask someone to uproot something good to come here. But time is on my side, I think, I have a long time to work this out, with countless quasi-relationships and and wild experiments and masichistic blunders and lonely nights and marijuana-induced psychoses and in-the-moment fucks and Bible terrors and razor blade tears standing between me and the time I have to make confident decisions on things of love like these.

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2 Comments »

  1. Yah, I’d have to agree with you there. I’m also a hopeless romantic, but I think with me I’d like both of those situations. They both have their different situations and times, and I think they would both me nice.

    Comment by lancerboi — December 4, 2004 @ 11:29 pm | Reply

  2. I enjoy your face!

    Comment by ononehand — December 5, 2004 @ 3:17 am | Reply


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