My best relationships were always the ones I had in my head.
Because in my head the men were always perfect, they never got the chance to fuck it up in tangible reality, they always remained an ideal.
Either started from a side-eye glimpse on public transport, on the street or an event or any other public location; or from a ravaging dream; or from a feeling of deja-vu from a past life – I’ve had many affairs, many break-ups, many make-ups, many marriages, kids and all kind of wild happenings (sorry if anyone reading thought they were the only one I fantasised about).
I loved them all, and they obviously loved me back, even though – of course – there was spicy cheating on both sides, and other stuff… but like in any cheap rom-com (and reality for most lame people) they always came back to me.
All that living, all that experience… happening within the firing of my neurons for couple of minutes, here and there throughout my days.
How can I not be exhausted, amirite?!
Oh, the ‘perks’ of being an overthinking hsp.
*and yet, my love language is still touch – but can’t catch ’em (touch’ em) all.
Rory, The Unloved 