The Living Centrifuge

My good friend just found out that the boy (I judiciously avoid the word "man" here) she's been in love with since meeting him in Brasil in the summer, and who apparently reciprocated this feeling, is seeing someone else "informally". Informally. How do you like that one? Informally. Boys are such perfect perfect cowards. All I can say to my friend is, I feel ya. This is the deepest fear we have isn't it? You go away from one another, and you communicate, but somehow, there is something that doesn't match - you love him, and for some reason, you convince yourself that he is just not demonstrative, or that he's bad over the phone, or that it's his sister on MSN and that's why he doesn't answer you. And who knows what's been happening in his mind while you're a continent away, pining and aching and probably annoying all your friends with incessant talk of him but who cares because you're in love and your friends who can't be happy about that can fuck themselves and you know it's impractical but so what you're in love and it's just a miracle that you can actually drum up any form of human feeling after the bullshit that you've been through so yes it's impractical and born of pure fantasy but that's a good chunk of the charm because when you met there was some sort of click and you were excited and more comfortable with him than anyone else before him and that's valuable goddamn it and you're investing in some form of emotional attachment that can be described as love and the way you know this is happening is because every time he doesn't answer you on msn or goes offline as soon as you come online or says he's doing his laundry and never returns or doesn't appear to have any game plan about having you come and stay with him over Christmas it actually rips your innards to shreds and you wonder how it is that you are not completely comprised of scar tissue on the inside and why it is that you keep allowing this type of shit to happen in your life and then you remember that you're some sort of emotion junkie apparently, and you just love getting kicked when you're down apparently which in your universe translates to a refusal to stop loving and falling in love despite the fact that as you get older day after day week after week year after quick-ending year it appears to be increasingly futile as a pursuit but you can't let it go somehow and you want to reject all that Freudian bullshit about human relationships being the only avenue to a satisfied well adjusted life because it goes against your political grain but the blood and guts of it is that you want someone who can accept the huge huge overwhelming amount of probably dysfunctional smothering overwhelming love that you have in you and have no real place to put and your artistic work seems to defy the type of love that you want to give to someone ANYONE well not anyone but someone with whom you can have that click without him screaming in mortal terror a lethal heart shattering scream and running from you with all the speed he can muster.

So, while you're feeling that, he's just -- what? Forgetting what you look like?

We're so desperately alone on this earth.