Oh shit.

On October 8, 2012, M told me he really liked me. I said, “Oh shit.” continuously. As in, “Oh. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.” and so on.

I deflected it, saying thank you, that it wasn’t practical, and that I wasn’t in a place emotionally where I could have a relationship (though not in so many words).

I couldn’t say, “Sorry, I have a quasi (ersatz?) relationship with the person I lost my virginity to a few days before my birthday. And you’re like a little brother to me.”

Note to self: November 10, 2011. It’s not pathetic that I wrote it down, is it? Nah. Well, maybe it is. Just a bit. Whatever.

I told P and mentioned the little brother thing as my reason. We agreed was difficult, then P related a couple of similar instances. I said I have a thing for redheads, but I’m not going to fuck up the friendship by fucking around.

I feel nothing romantic for M. I won’t lie and say I’m completely averse to messing around, but that would have innumerable consequences. With experience, I think I’ve become significantly more jaded and cynical.

One thought on “Oh shit.

  1. Pingback: Lovesick? I’m sick of it, alright. | La Bocca Della Verita

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