I’m not an interesting person, just a person with an interesting existence. Interesting things happen to me, but sometimes I can be an interesting thing that happens to someone else. But let me reiterate, I myself am quite boring. I like evenings in, films, books, don’t watch TV, enjoy walks, poetry. I can sit for hours saying nothing, just sitting there, thinking, and going on flights of fancy. I can ignore even the most persistent of fools. If I get with a girl I can entertain her intensely, but it’s acting interesting. It’s a lie that they’ll never figure out. I have a more than interesting sex life, but all the ideas are unoriginal and I got them through practice, not intuition. If I fancy a girl I can go up to her, because I am interested in her and I can talk about interesting things, but then, those things have never really interested me and I’ll lose interest in her soon enough.


I’m jealous, self-involved, impatient, quick to anger, self-destructive, cold-hearted and every other negative human characteristic. I’m not interested in why I am how I am. I just am. I’ve never cared for anyone aside from myself. I am all I’m interested in. I love dreams because they speak some more of a place where the only thing in control is myself; instead of the world where the opposite is true.


In a relationship all my negatives work against me at double pace. I get envious of all the men she’s ever been with. My impatience makes me want to scream at her. My anger at her is turned on myself, because I’d never hit her. I start to freeze over to protect my heart. I hate her more if she’s ever loved. It’s because there is someone out there who got what I had, it isn’t as unique as it should be, and because it ended it’s a smack in the face, because if she’s loved before then it proves that you can beat it. Love to me, had always been an unbeatable creature. Until I met ‘Her’.


The Smile Reverser reversed more than my smile. Every law was flipped on its head. She made me feel like I was the best man alive, she was impulsive enough to override my impatience, I never grew angry, never tired of her, never saw anything that would make me freeze over. That was until she turned the law of gravity upside down, put my heart in my stomach and then in a flash it was beating in the thick of my throat. I felt like cutting it out when she left me, hated being weak because of it. Along with my view of love everything else was shattered too. There is one thing further she did for me, she defined love, but only because I’d never loved her. I learnt what love isn’t.


So I’ve never loved, and the reason? Because I confused obsession with love, it didn’t hurt to lose her as much as it would if I’d have loved her. It’s the only truth I hold in my chest anymore.


But is love really worth it? If I ever did fall in love I’d just end up hating the bitch for having loved someone else before me, despise the fact she can’t make a simple fucking decision, hurt myself, and then freeze my abhorrent little heart so I never had to feel the pain of finally leaving her. I’d deny I’d ever felt a thing for her. I’d end up drinking myself into a depression like I’d never felt before and then I’d get over her.


That is what I fear most, I’d  ‘get over it’. I don’t want to ‘get over’ love. The one thing I’d always hoped I’d die from was a broken heart, and it looks as if I’ll never be able to. I’m no towering romantic after all. I’m a scrawny little survivor, as persistence as a cockroach.


Sure I’d be broken, I’d drink, beat myself to a pulp, lose everything, but I’d start over. I’d claw a new life for myself, find new people, a job, women, eventually I’d fall in love again and she’d make a new me, but the next time I’d be more calculated, I’d plan my moves, know the signs of the end of it and then move on again. All in all I’d learn more than I ever would alone. Maybe that is why love is worth it. To become new again and again and again.

Then comes a peculiar thought. If I loved and then lost, would I be more interesting?