Honey, I have to tell you something. Can you turn the music down? It’s serious. Okay, now sit down. Are you ready? Okay.
I’m going to hate you one day. I’m going to despise every fiber of your being. I’ll wince when you touch me in the foyer after a long day at work. I’ll lose desire for your penis, your arms, your teeth, your earlobes. I’m going to stop believing everything you tell me. I’m going to draw the blinds, take a nap, and never wake up again. And there is nothing you can do about it. Not a damn thing.
Please don’t cry. It’s not today! I don’t hate you yet. In fact, I still love you. I don’t wince in the foyer at your touch, not even a little bit, and I’m still very much enamored with your genitalia. But it was the funniest thing really. The other day, when we were lying in bed, I felt a cold chill rush through my body and that’s when I knew this wasn’t forever with a capital F. I felt this cold chill in my last relationship. It’s my body’s way of telling my heart to bulk up because heartbreak is on its way.
I think it’s going to be your fault though. Your actions will be the reason why I’ll eventually hate you. I know that you’re a cold man. It didn’t seem like it when we first met but the more I look around inside of you, I realize just how chilly you are. It’s a quiet emotional distance, hard to pinpoint, which makes it all the more difficult to fix. It’s the way you turn away from me in bed five minutes too early, or fail to notice when I’m upset with you. I don’t think you understand people. Or maybe you understand them all too well and don’t care to know more.
You’re still crying but I almost feel like they’re crocodile tears. You don’t know what to do with me when I’m here. You only know what to do when I’m gone. If you could spoon on a long-distance phone call, you wouldn’t turn away from me five minutes early. You’re more comfortable loving me at a distance, when I’m contained, but you seem flustered when I try to give myself all of you.
Oh, what a terrible thing this all is! I shouldn’t have told you. I acknowledge that was a little screwed up of me, but then again, I’m screwed up! After all, I picked you, didn’t I? Granted, you’re better than the last one. You’re not openly terrible but the similarities are unavoidable. I picked the wrong person to love again. I continued the cycle. I still feel comfortable loving people more than they love me back. Fabulous! The good news is, I guess, that I’ll get over you and move on.
When I hate you, you’re going to finally love me. That’s how these things usually work, right? I pull away after getting no response, which makes you attentive all of a sudden. Well, guess what? No thanks. When I hate you, you’re not allowed to touch me or want me or talk to me. You have an all-access pass to me now and you don’t even use it, so I’m revoking your membership. Bye-bye.
I’ll enjoy hating you. When I do, it will mean that I love myself a little bit more. So just let me do that. Let me love myself.
Phew. I feel so much better telling you this. Wanna do Thai for dinner?