MonkeyPants

Die For You

The memory hit me out of nowhere. I was on the bus, so maybe I saw/heard/smelled something to trigger it, but I don’t know what it was.

I remembered being at a concert in Victoria’s Inner Harbour, listening to Jann Arden give a free concert standing on top of a concession stand.  At least, that’s what I think it was.

I was there with a guy I was seeing, and a bunch of his friends, most of whom were SCA-types who had been driven half-mad by their own insecurities. Spending time with them was basically answering the question, “Do you like me?” over and over again.

In any case, this boy’s arms were around me, and we were swaying to  I Would Die For You,  and I had this sudden moment of blinding clarity:  He thinks he loves me, but he doesn’t, really. And I know I don’t love him. I am going to have to cut him loose, because there is no way I am assuming responsibility for him forever. Maybe not even til the end of the month.

And then I had a pang of sadness, wishing I did love him, and that he really did love me. Because that would be so easy, and it would all be taken care of, and I wouldn’t have to do any of the long ghastly work of finding a goddamned man to love.