Nobody would call us patient. We are not those kinds of people that are able to wait around without emoting a slight twitch of agitation. Whether waiting in long ridiculous New York lines for a cup of coffee or just because for some reason we find ourselves agitated at the weather or at the delayed subway, we make our frustrations known – we furrow our eyebrows, we exhale in deep sighs and in these moments, for some indescribable reason we often take a step away from one another.
Walking down the street, we often make comments to each other about others. We scorn people — whether because they touch your dog without asking or because they look like the type of person who would touch your dog without asking. The high fluctuation of Brittany and Tiffany’s voice ignites a two minute conversation about “why people just suck.” We dispute these non issues in a fake sense of seriousness, understanding full well that these are just little nothings in this world of big nothings. .
People admire the unit. People aspire to be “the unit.” We however are not a unit.
You are you and I am me and we respect that about each other. We understand we are people of excess – in emotion, in thoughts, in stubbornness- so we understand how unnecessary and perhaps detrimental it would be in combining our excesses together. We are not always on board with one another and we let each other know when we aren’t.
We do not hold each other tighter when we are angry at each other or the world. Instead we often let a silence grow between us and it. When we do speak in anger, we do not open the windows of our shared room to let out the harsh words lingering in the air. We often sit there, understanding it and letting it suffocate us until eventually you have to leave in order to remember how to breathe again.
We are not very warm people. We care about things and people who we do care about know it and feel it but we are not one of those people that exude a sense of comfort and calm. We crave the realness of humanity. You find this often by demanding the stripping of insecurities, finding humor and intrigue on whats left barren.
I haven’t told you this, but sometimes I feel bad for the empty shells you leave behind.
I’m half anxiety and half impulse and act like a fly to the light of disruption. You are half heavy thoughts of inadequacy mixed almost perfectly with a false sense of righteousness. And like learning a map, we’ve grown to understand where we plateau and where we create mountains. When I’m sad, we have learned we should treat whiskey not as my friend, but rather as my mortal enemy. When you come face to face with your demons, often more sporadically than mine, I’ve learned to let you walk away despite the demons of my past telling me you might not come back. We hate ourselves in these moments and sometimes, for no reason at all, think we hate one another.
But what I love about us is that we do not coward to the fear of hate. We know it exists within the spaces we occupy within ourselves and with each other — and whether for a substantial reason or not, we understand hate has a tendency to brew in even the purest of loves. It can rise up even in the middle of a hug, raise it’s fist and say “I dare you to love me.” And we choose to do so every time.
And by no means am I saying that I’m any expert at love. I just know that my past relationships of– “it irritates me when you do this, but I can tell by letting you know how bad that irritation is it will only make you sad so I”m going to end it with a let’s forget about it and I love you anyways.” Holding people for the sake of holding them in moments when I really didn’t want to but I did anyways because I was afraid that space would leave them room to walk away. I’m not an expert at love. But I know this is the most real of anything I’ve ever felt.
Pure hate: no middle ground of “I don’t like it when you do that.” No gray area of “well that makes me feel…” No. We say, “we fucking hate it when you do that and we don’t want you to do it anymore.” Within this ferocity of emotion we have the capability to understand the pure importance of a hug, of a kiss in the morning, a slight nibble of the ear and the words “thank you.” Everything genuine. You and I are a lot of things–stubborn, angry, irrational at times but we are always genuine.
And it’s my belief at least that we love more than most people because we understand hate. Who knows? This might be a fools statement and in six months from now or even years down the line, it might lead to our detriment. But for right now, I love being real with you. And I love that I don’t ever have to think you’re saying you love me for the sake of saying it.