Yep. You read that right. And I make no apologies for it whatsoever. I can no more control my feelings than I can control the weather. I’m in love.
If you’ve been reading my posts lately, you’ve probably caught on. In my fiction, which I admit is always at least initially based on real life or real people I know, I have been writing a lot about love. And you caught me. I’m definitely in love.
I don’t know why people care so much, but apparently they do. I am sorry if anyone finds it disrespectful, but go ahead and cast me as your villain for feeling so deeply.
I am in love. In love with love.
What? You thought I was in love with a person? Get fucking real. That is what happens when you make assumptions based on my jokes, poems, and fiction. You end up being wrong. I’m not in love with anybody. I’m not IN anything with anyone, how could I possibly in love with someone? What a stupid fucking conclusion.
But I do love someone. A lot. I’m not IN love though.
Yeah, guess what? I love a lot of people. Pretty much everyone I know, actually.
So what? What did you think I meant?
For the last time, and I mean it this time…let me explain the way this works: I write about what I want, when I want. Sometimes I write about the real things happening in my life (I usually use the word “I”, instead of “he” for those), and sometimes I write fiction. And those fiction posts? They have this handy little tag at the bottom that says…wait for it…”fiction“. Are there character traits from either myself or people I know? Yeah. Are there certain aspects of story lines based on real things from the present and/or the past? Yeah. Can anything be gleaned into the details of my personal life (or lack thereof) from those stories? Fuck no. Quit trying.
I write about love a lot. Why? Because I’m in love with love. Love is fucking awesome. It is the main driver of everything we do, until we cast it aside. It is an amazing feeling, (or action, really), that drives every good story I’ve ever read. Occasionally romantic love. Occasionally friendly love. Occasionally family love or conceptual love.
So you, person who asked…no, I’m not in love with anyone. And you, person who asked if I was in love with you…no. No, I am not. But I do love both of you. Just not how you would think. You are not stupid, but believing I would try to convey some love in my writing is. And you should know me enough to know I am too honest to go about things that way.
Love is amazing, and make no mistake…just because I am not now in love does not mean I would run from it if it happened. Being in love with a person who was in love with me was the best feeling I’ve ever had. Why would I possibly run away from that?
I write about love even though I am certainly not in love with anyone. I write about dating even though I am not dating. I write about pick up lines that nobody should ever use even though I am not trying to pick anyone up. When I do…it won’t be something in my joke posts, fiction, or poetry. I probably won’t write about it at all. And when I am in love with someone, and they become a part of my life…only then will I write about it. In my standard blog-style posts. Not hidden in some story, joke, or poem.
Why are my feelings so important anyway? Why are you trying to read into things to catch an imagined glimpse of me?
I’m not a monk, or a saint, or a martyr. There will come a time when I am going to date again. I have interests and desires. One day, I will act on them. And I guarantee whenever that day is…be it tomorrow, two years, or two decades from now…it will be too soon for some people.
I don’t care. That is on you and your failure to see me as my own person who continues to exist.
So hate me. Call me names. Call me insensitive because one day I will want to share my life with someone again.
Judge me because I’m in love with love. Judge me because I hope to be in love with someone again one day. Judge me because I know there are people I could fall in love with.
Cast me as your villain.
In fact, I think I’m in love with the role.