The sound of trying to let you go was softer than I expected. Maybe I secretly expected more, something that would make me flinch for a moment. A dramatic build-up ending in a cacophonous finale. But instead, all I get is a small orchestra of crickets in the background while the dishwasher does its thing, softly humming to let me think undisturbed about the situation I’m in.
This is the oh-so-painful moment when love is not mutual, and that realization has slowly found its place in your mind. When you’ve fallen off that pink cloud and the other person shows you parts of themselves you dislike, allowing you to think more clearly again. The realization that this won’t be what you had hoped for or what I had hoped for, because it feels like I’m the only one who hoped for more than this.
My ship has sailed, and the train has left once again. And as I predicted, you’ve already gotten off while I’m still sitting in my seat. I wave goodbye to my feelings, as it’s for the better. I’ve crashed all the way down from that pink cloud and seem to have broken my nose in the process. Next week, I’ll be back at a party, probably kissing someone else againto get rid of you and your imprint on me. A strange kind of emotional cleansing in an endless cycle. This is what we gays do, right? An endless cycle of moving on to the next, hoping this one sticks longer than a day, a week, or five years. I already feel sad when I think about it. But next weekend, I’ll be high enough to hide it. Whatever comes after, I’ll deal with it.
You reply six hours later to my texts after months of intensive, daily communication. Usually, I take the lead in the conversation, and you don’t ask me any questions. The interest comes from me, unless the conversation turns to something you don’t understand. Then you ask for more explanation or clarification.
The focus is always on your experience, unless you realize something is bothering me. And only then do you finally show some interest. A while ago, you told me you were afraid you would eventually hurt me. It’s not exactly pain that I feel right now, more like worry combined with a bit of envy. I think we’ve both found a way to create some distance from each other.
I really shouldn’t be involved in your self-destructive adventures. I certainly haven’t been innocent in my lifestyle either, but I’m more cautious these days, and I party much less than I used to. I don’t know if what I feel is fear that I’m missing something because I’m not there, or the realization that you’re spending the night with other men. Maybe a bit of both. But mostly, I find it quite difficult to have to share your body with others.
Self-destructive behavior can take on strange forms. It allows you to finally relax and enjoy the moment, and to you, it can feel like a mystical experience. Although that usually only feels temporary, because the emotional crash comes later. Or maybe that crash only happens to me, because I’m the more emotional one.
We convince ourselves of all sorts of things just to escape reality and make it sound like an intervention or a moment of clarity. But in the end, it’s just temporary detachment without having to confront the aftermath. And if you ultimately fall into a constant loop of this process, what exactly is expanding within it? Isn’t it just a constant postponement, an execution delayed to block out reality? And then acting as though you’ve put everything in its place afterward?
I sound bitter because, in part, I am. Teach me to understand it, if you can explain it. Because all I see is someone who is slowly losing themselves. An empty shell moving from place to place, from man to man. What exactly are you looking for? A version of yourself you’ve never seen, or a version of yourself you’re slowly losing? With every step I take to get closer, you take three steps back. You open up when I’m with you, and then shut down hard over the weekend when I’m not there. A yo-yo of emotions that confuses me. You probably don’t want someone like me, someone who worries about you. But I mean well, because I care about you.
Strangely, I feel myself slowly disconnecting from you. You never asked me to hold your hand, so now I’m letting you go for my own health and well-being.
Once I got to work today, I could let it go for a bit. I almost forgot that I have a life besides you. The day went smoothly, and for a single moment, I almost forgot about you completely. Work gives me a sense of regularity that I appreciate and need right now. Over the years, I’ve learned that it keeps me balanced, that strange, repetitive daily structure. Sometimes I dip my toes into the pool of adventure just to escape it again. I don’t need to find myself anymore, because I know exactly who I am. I know my strengths and my weaknesses. And sometimes, I let the latter take over completely. Especially when I’m in love. In the end, I’m only human.
As soon as my shift ends, my thoughts automatically return to you as I walk out. I think that, with time and adjustment, I can find peace with the fact that this won’t be exactly what I had envisioned. Not everything goes the way you hope it will. Maybe this will eventually turn into a deeper friendship or an intimate friendship, if you want to call it that. I suddenly feel immature in this new territory. The difference is, you find it just as confusing as I do. You, however, can detach emotionally much more easily, almost immediately, because that’s how you’re wired. Your emotions only surface when you have the space for them.
I’m learning to give my emotions a different place. I take some distance, file part of it away in an archive, and place a piece of it back in my heart for someone else. But it feels a bit like I’m fooling myself. The bright sun blinds me. The novelty has worn off for me, and that makes me a lot less interesting to you. You probably think you know me completely, likely because I’ve exposed so much of myself as a form of disarmament. I prefer to lay everything out right away, then it’s up to the other person to decide if they like me or not. Sometimes it feels like if I stop talking, we’ll never talk again.
I ask if you still want to plan something, and you say you want to be together, but not plan anything. It’s your way of sighing at the fact that nothing is as easy as it was when we were students with endless time. Now we’re grown men with work schedules, friends, family, and obligations. And we live in two completely different cities in the Netherlands. But what exactly am I supposed to take from this unclear message? The question is simple: do you still want to see me or not? There are plenty of people who would love to make plans with me. Fine, then we won’t make plans, and I’ll leave it up to you.
But what happens in between? The endless emptiness from here to there? The part no one has ever really mapped, because no one can fully decipher it. The no-man’s-land between having feelings for someone and no longer having them. Slowly becoming immune. And bitter. And then, eventually, being able to be yourself again. Do we become friends, like gay men often do? First an intimate relationship that doesn’t work out, and then a friendship where you care just a little more for each other than in a normal friendship?
I really shouldn’t be disappointed or sad about this. After all, you never promised me anything from the start. And yet, it still stings. Finding a new relationship is like navigating a minefield, constantly opening up and exposing myself to strangers, hoping a connection will form and interests will overlap. And making new friendships at this age is even harder. But can we not even become friends? Or is it too early, or maybe already too late?
One day, I’ll be able to set all my feelings aside, I promise. And then nothing you do or say will hurt me anymore, because I won’t be in love with you. It’s funny how we shape ourselves into a small ball just to be allowed into someone’s presence, until the realization hits that you’re erasing yourself for someone who sees that little ball as nothing more than street trash.
Slowly, that slight feeling of envy creeps back in. I really don’t feel like doing this anymore, this pathetic little story where I play the lead role and don’t get what I want. It was nice while it lasted, but I can’t keep wallowing in one-sided feelings. For weeks now, I’ve been listening endlessly to sad love songs that perfectly describe my situation. It’s high time I started giving my attention to the people who return it, because I deserve someone who gives me just as much back, or maybe even more.
Hopefully, those last feelings for you will disappear like snow in the sun with every step I take away from you. Every step still feels like a huge challenge, but I can see now that this really isn’t going anywhere. Now I just have to make sure I don’t backtrack like a lapdog the moment you give me a pat on the head. It takes a lot for me to love you, and I don’t know how much longer I can stretch myself before I tear apart.
The crickets in the background try to drown out my thoughts and pull me back to reality. If I don’t make the decision, they will do it for me. It’s a beautiful summer evening, and I let myself be swept away by unrequited romance. Let it go, you’re wasting your time and energy on someone who doesn’t truly care about you or your feelings.
In my mind, I romanticize a scene where tears roll down my cheeks like in a tragic movie. But no tears come. For weeks now, I haven’t been able to cry, even though it would probably bring enormous relief. A small voice in the back of my head tells me I can’t cry, maybe I don’t deserve my tears. After all, you asked for this yourself, remember? My thoughts ping-pong between self-pity and self-punishment. Exactly how I like it.
This week, you’re sleeping next to him again, saying goodnight to that guy. You pleasure him until he falls asleep peacefully, while you lie awake for hours, dwelling on what we have, or what we could have had. Morning will probably come quickly. You’ll leave with a backpack full of shame and disappointment. On your way to the train station, you’ll wonder if this is life. The exciting life you once had and longed for again because everything had become so still.
That feeling of young love and fun you so desperately wanted to feel again. In the process, you forget that not every date or sexual escapade has a happy ending. Sometimes it’s just temporary pleasure. Sometimes it’s an extended infatuation with a sharp edge. The destructive aftermath of this emotional roller coaster is nothing new. It’s that eternal little devil in the back of my mind, stick in hand. I only have to nod, and he’ll smash everything I hold dear. And I let it happen, because sometimes it feels like this is all I know.
It’s nothing new. I know him well enough now, we’re almost friends. Maybe this is the partner I’m looking for. Or maybe all the men in my life reflect what I think I deserve. The devil is a fickle friend. He keeps promising me that everything will be okay next weekend. I don’t quite believe him yet, but time will heal things.
I need to find a way to let this go. Maybe then I’ll laugh about it tomorrow. Maybe I just need to go through this disappointment, of not getting what I want. So I can eventually see you differently. In a way that no longer hurts me, but still allows me to enjoy being with you.
Because no matter how badly I speak of you now, you don’t want to hurt me. And you’ve always asked me to tell you when you do.
Would I dare to tell you now?
Martijn Winkel 