Are you all sick of my dating stories yet? I promise Iāll write some non-dating related things soon. But in the meantime thanks for reading. I love you. šš This one was written about 4 months ago.
Sam says relationships are built on the trust that neither of you is going to grab the knife on the table between you and betray the other. When someone does, thatās proof that they werenāt worth trusting. And then youāve got to learn to trust enough to sit down at the same table with the same knife with someone else. Itās been a while since I have trusted anyone new with a knife and Iām not sure youāre worthy of my neurosis just yet You make my head hurt and I can already tell from this conversation that we would be a mess together Youād get up from the table and make a bad joke about the knife Iād end up stabbing myself with it Bleeding out on your kitchen floor Or maybe not Maybe you will be a safe space Maybe you will use that knife to whittle me a wooden spoon, cook me food, protect me I donāt like the part of dating where you have to put yourself out there Like walking to the edge of a diving board and hesitating before the cold water hits your skin Dating is like looking for a place to live. A house to buy, an apartment to rent, a short-term situation until you get settled in that new city. I want you to be my six-month sublet. I want to stick around and see what this place is like without signing any papers or committing too hard. I want to see if I like the neighborhood first. Is it too loud in the evenings? Do you move too much at night? Wake me up with every toss and turn like a car alarm never stopping. Or are you a gentle breeze, a soft hum like the ocean outside your door? I want to stick around long enough to get a sense of the building. What are the bones like? Are the floors made of hardwood or soft tiles? Will they sink under my feet or hold me up as I walk its twisted hallways? Will the neighbors leave me fresh baked cookies or bang on the ceiling with a broom when I play my music too loud. I want to fall down in a living room full of kisses from you. The short pecks and the long ones I donāt want to end. A carpet of kisses for this insatiable creature. I want a happy place. Are you my happy place? Itās too soon to say. And even asking the question makes me nervous. Makes me want to keep scrolling for other apartments, swiping right and swiping left to make sure you donāt stick too hard. Youāre not ready for it and neither am I. Or are we? Dating is like looking for new shoes for that wedding you are dreading going to. There are so many options but none of them are just right. Those spikey heels will sink too far into the soft ground. Those wedges are too high, you need to be shorter than him whoever said that or did anyone? I want you to be my new pair of just-right clogs, the ones that donāt stomp too loud when I walk down the hallway at work, the kind with just the right amount of rubber sole, strong leather, and bright colors, quiet but joyful. Are you that? Of course, I am writing about you because you havenāt been fully washed off my skin yet. I want to curl up on your new couch and watch a thousand movies there. How was it so comfortable so fast? Or was it? Did I just imagine that? Your head under my chin, your cat curled up between us. I wasnāt paying attention to the movie. Or was I? Is this a place I could land? Or do I keep looking? Your couch needs breaking in and thereās no room for my KitchenAid on your counter. But the ocean is right there. And isnāt that something I should be paying attention to? An ocean view with a complicated man running through my head and getting annoyed by my constant demands for kisses. That could be a nice place for a little while.