Romeo, save me, they’re tryna tell me how to feel
This love is difficult, but it’s real
Don’t be afraid, we’ll make it out of this mess
It’s a love story, baby, just say, “Yes”
Is it a love story or not? Is it an ending or a beginning? Driving into work, it was a long drive, listening to music, kind of morning.
I was thinking about a little project I am working on. I can’t spend too much time on it yet; work and a new class starting have it on the side burner, but I was writing parts of it in my head this morning. Thinking about how we are born into a certain kind of life. My mother had plans for us because her mother had plans for her. Born into the middle class, there is a certain expectation of responsibilities. You have enough to be grateful. You have family and systems around you, and so you’re expected to not want more, not to want something different.
We talk about certain connections not being real or being just an escape, but your mind doesn’t see the difference. Even if it knows there is more there not seen. The life that is lived beyond the screen is not there for you to see or know, but your heart doesn’t care.
I started watching Love is Blind a few years ago while I was talking to a different Daddy. I was hit by how texting and online connections are not that much different than that experiment. You get to know someone in a bubble, and then you have to decide to bring them out of it or not. Share them in the light of day. So many of those relationships fall apart once real life gets in the way.
I joked with that partner that I didn’t want to live with him or be his 24/7 sex slave (that is exactly what he said he wanted, though). I told him, “Put me in a tiny house on your property. Let me read and write all day and come to you when you need me.”
Talking to someone else, I could see myself as his rock, his anchor, an extension of him, and living with another man didn’t seem so bad. I am not in a rush for that, though.
