I Love You. I’m Hungry, Let’s Get Something to Eat…

Fuck unrequited love.

The gnawing. The possessive desperation. The ache of unknowing, worsened only by the slow-dying thud of knowing for sure. The over-commercialized but no less real feeling that you will die, you will just DIE.

Now before we go on, let me clarify whom I’m talking about here, for the sake of the ‘piece’. I am not talking about those poor sods that sit scribbling over spell check nightmare love letters, little devotee tears pooling in their love-lacquered eyes. Spewing forth all the emotions (every little itty-bitty one) from their mussed-up heads down to their radiating feet, only to be so callously rejected with an inarticulate, “Um I just don’t see you that way.” Oh no. This is the case of the sadder. Whoever is in the path of this gushing love. The withstander of the adoration.

I am talking about me. (Or you if you feel the need to implant yourself into the story to enjoy it).

But the poor sods, I hear you puzzling, with that head tilt and bottom lip stuck out, “Are the ‘lovers’ not the ones who deserve our consideration, our condolence?” Shit no! No sympathy need be shared. They’ve got love in their hearts and fire in their bellies! Enough emotion to pen seven moleskine journals in one summery park afternoon! They are living the goddamn dream! Beloved me on the other hand…

Well, I may be that dream, but I am certainly not living it.

And this proves to be a pickle.

Because, well, although the initial splash of ego-boost is rather glorious, the incessant run of saccharine words get old and soggy and all that is left has gone rather dry and sticky and is peeling off around my eyelids.

And it is around this point that you start to wonder about your admirer. You are uncertain of their sanity. You scrutinize the loss of lucidity in their glassy, idolising eyes. You doubt their downright sensibleness. Your gorgeous, brilliant amazingness has become… their crazy. Squinting at yourself in the mirror you try to understand. You are quite passable. Pretty even, in the right light. You are intelligent and can make a decent joke. You have ‘style’. But… no, it’s not quite possible, this extent of adulation, you think, fingering the light hairs around your belly button that may even be in need of a pluck if you gave a bit of a fuck. Uneasiness pools as expectations grow. Anxiety swells. Your unsettled tummy balloons with apprehension as you realize that no one is as excellent as the woman that is being described to you as yourself. Bloody hell, you don’t even flush the toilet after making a pee anymore!

Love, you conclude, has turned the boy mad.

But still, you question yourself. Your reasons. Your doubt. Your straightforward ‘no’. This silly man’s obsession has now made you challenge your legitimate feelings. He believes it is because you are not ready. You are frightened of intimacy because of your childhood rejections. You aren’t allowing yourself to love. Maybe now is not the right time but… it will be.

The interrogation begins:

  • Should I..?
  • Could it..?
  • Maybe..?
  • A chance..?
  • Just high standards..?
  • No.
  • No.
  • No.
  • No.
  • Yes, but God won’t be happy if you settle for less.

More From Thought Catalog

  • http://tattoosnob.com Julene

    This piece made me smile.

  • Sars

    Uhhhh…. wow. I am totally flabbergasted by this article. This is my life right now to a T specifically right now, had these thoughts last night how is it that thoughtcatalog's articles mimic my life so uncannily? ESPECIALLY the part about fingering belly button hairs contemplating a 'pluck' and not flushing the toilet after making a pee (I do this however for water conservation purposes). Uhg this makes me uncomfortable. Can you explain the ending though? Does this mean you are not actually in love? you were are just assessing the pros and cons of possibly 'being in love' and you were like… 'peace?'

    • Diy

      I think she was starting to picture the two of them together and was warming up to the idea of being in love. But in the end she got back to the question – “Is he The One?” and the answer was still NO. Hahaha MAN, I can really relate to this one. I might be wrong though..

      • Amy

        Haha, that is it DIY! Completely! It was almost.too.easy to give in… But I couldn't. Cos he wasn't.

  • PERFECTCIRCLES

    As someone who has never been on either side of unrequited love, this was eye-opening. I now hope to be on the receiving end once and on the giving end once before I die.

    • Jordan

      the receiving end is almost just as painful. this happened to me this summer, when my best guy friend confessed his love even though i was always very clear to him that we were just friends. nonetheless, i felt like the biggest asshole alive, and cried, a lot.

  • douchegirl

    I was on the “giving” end of unrequited love and now I can fully see how crazy it made me seem.

    I am that poor sod.

  • melisha

    good read. giggles all the way through

  • mikey b

    at least somewhat related, i think: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L

  • http://twitter.com/dogheart Nick Medlin

    Good stuff. Do balanced relationships even exist? Is it ever not just an endless, subconscious tug-of-war between the the pursuer's egomania and pursue-e's insecurities? Impossible to say really but given that our culture is almost entirely driven by these exact same forces, I'd wager that the great majority of relationships (intimate or otherwise) will only follow suit. Personally, I'm waiting on the Google wizards to develop an algorithm centered around the concept of each person on Earth having a 'soul mate'. A sort of cloud-based, AI-driven, sensor-powered version of “I'm feeling lucky” applied to the whole (girl|boy)friend thing.

  • anonnnn

    'love-lacquered' is brill

  • matt

    Pretty funny :)

  • Anna-Lee

    Kak, braai, nandos, Van Burren… I knew it had to be written by a South African… Good stuff!

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