Seriously, my humor is really saving me right now.

Imagine: getting a little – or major – bruised heart whilst on vacation across the country this summer. You come back, wondering if what happened was real. If you really just cried those tears of frustration. If you really want to believe he was a dick for mistreating you. If you really drank four drink specials of Carling beer followed by cheap Jameson in a Williamsburg bar and then ran into a fire hydrant on the sidewalk. (Accident, of course.) 

Then you figure out that while he still may make your loins sing a bit and he may or may not have questionable morals, you still want to be friends with the guy. So you move on, take some time away, then slowly start to re-email with him. He actually shapes up a bit and shows the friend side of him that made you like him in the first place. Things rebuild and you find a happy place. 

“Don’t turn around, keep going/If I do look back, I’ll never get over you” – The Whitest Boy Alive, “Dead End”

Then HOLYSHIT. Some saint in a polo shirt swoops in on your birthday bar brawl and asks you out on a date, which you’re pretty positive has not happened since you were in high school and a visit to Denny’s is what that meant. Your heart swoons a bit. He’s smart, considerate, polite and a consummate gentleman. A bit shy. He likes whisky as much as you do and he’s so painfully handsome you have to photograph him (which happens almost immediately later). It’s like he was sent to remind you not all dudes are like the previous one on the East Coast, who wants to stick it in you simply because you have the proper assigned parts. It’s reassuring and refreshing. And you think it’s going well.

But then.

Then Prince Polo Shirt says he wants to date to settle down, to find someone he’s destined to be with. And that he can’t see a future with you because ‘the spark is gone.’

Three weeks after you meet each other.

How did I become a defective firecracker, again?

“Hey you we just got started, you can’t end this now/You’ve paid your dues, you’re free/Of what are you afraid?” – The Whitest Boy Alive, “1517” 

And while your ego is a little bruised, this conversation needed to happen. You owe nothing to him, and vice versa. It's a good transition point. I mean, maybe you’ll find out later he’s into furries, or that he really enjoys the scent of napalm in the morning. It might be a good time to reassess, as he’s doing with you. So in his car you diplomatically decide together that friend status should be established - but you counter with a curveball, suggesting an option be open for potential physicality later on. I mean, he’s a respectable guy, with steady moods and eyes that make you melt and a sweet baggy leather jacket you fucking hate but stand because you like him. (You plot how to say something about this later.) 

After you depart from the car with this newfound friend, you move throughout life as back to business as you can, caught up in midterms and art and being with friends and Trader Joe’s wine benders when you receive a phone call with bad news. He got laid off, and it sucks, and oh won’t you have a drink with him because it’s what friends do? The venue is reached, the drinks are poured, and one visit back to your place post-fun spirals into a simulated relationship that continues for another three weeks with no real boundaries, limitations, or titles established (and seriously, what? Is three a magic number you were unaware of?).

“Basic space, open air/Don't look away, when there's nothing there” – The xx, “Basic Space”

You’re "in" this new thing now: being in a non-relationship relationship. He likes to be cutesy when he’s alone with you, and seems to hold you differently than before. You go out to dinner with each other and no one else and make fun of everyone together while people watching. You make time for him by reorganizing your schedule to hang out with him, more than your other friends, who raise eyebrows and woops like Arsenio Hall out of their throats in both encouragement and concern.

He makes a song using samples of your voice; you continue to photograph him for your portfolio; late night sessions start to occur on his bedroom floor of both the creative and procreating variety and you wonder if maybe this – the tango you first did before the spark was 'lost' – has a second shot. It feels good, and right, and seemingly correct this time. But you’ve always been a creature of duality: while your logic tells you that he would have asked you to seal the deal by now with titles, the bundle of nerves your heart operates on is curious to continue on. I mean, things seem to be going well in general – minus that maybe your promise about no-strings attached may be going the wayside. You don't want to say anything just yet, especially since the Brooklyn guy episode weighs on your mind (plus the fire hydrant incident). You're still a little guarded. You got hurt. Way. Fucking. Bad. Why question anything?

The feelings, though. Sometimes they peak, sometimes they are subdued for Polo. You've tried to suppress them, maybe think of all the shit you hate about Polo, or about the Wu-Tang Clan: anything to make you not have to figure it out. But being the person who wears her heart on her sleeve, you know you have to come clean. And besides: if you’re good enough to talk with, tell secrets with, hang out with, go out with, share with, make art with, make out with, sleep with, and be with, surely you're good enough to be his girlfriend? 

It turns out: no, according to him.

“I guess I’m just being picky right now.”

After a day of face stuffing, park strolling, and foreign horror film watching, you’re back in that fucking car of his, and find out he still wants to get married – and not to you. But then it changes, and he doesn’t know what he wants. One minute he says he wants to settle down and start something serious with someone (but not with you – remember, defective firecracker), the next he says he’s just trying to roll with what life gives him. A game of Tic-Tac-Toe would be more predictable than what’s happening in front of your house right now. 

When you admit that maybe the friends with benefits thing was not honored or thought about much by either of you, and fed into wrongly, you’re both quiet.

“Having said what I needed to/Having shown what I feel for you/What my intentions have been today/Now it's time for you to do the same/And no love can be guaranteed/It don't come with no warranties/It's a leap you have to make/It's the risk we all must take” – The Whitest Boy Alive, “Courage”

When you want something so bad, you think that simply desiring the outcome is enough for it to come true. But it’s not. And as much as you believe that two of you work together – what with the filthy inside jokes, shared interest in dessert crepes, and general raging hormone level – he doesn’t see it the same way. He thinks the two of you are different; he likes you, sure, but not enough to move from the ‘friend’ column into ‘omg spiritual lover and life soul mate’ one. You outline everything that makes both of you fit together well, but it’s not enough. Gandhi even couldn’t make this guy do charity work. Them Taurus signs sure are stubborn.

The worst thing about it all? Is that he didn’t even want to try again. Didn’t want to give another go, or attempt a second chance, or be open to a re-do. Why not? What could be so bad about trying something again to see if it’s tried and true? What if you guys were meant to be together, but never had a chance to check it out? It’s not like you’d owe any money if you went wrong like in a fantasy soccer league. 

But he doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Any of it. So he faux breaks up with you, because how else can you describe two people who don't work out romantically who were not really in a serious relationship in the first place, in two words otherwise? As much as he reassures you it’s not the case, you still feel like he wrote you off too soon. That he didn’t give you guys a chance to thrive, to develop, to see if something could blossom into a potential romance. That he seems so into you like a fat kid into Cheetos, but not enough into you to date you seriously. It seems unfair that he got to ask you out first, to break up with you the first time, to re-ask to hang out, to do all the special things people do with other people when they like someone ‘like that' - and now he gets the last motion of action in stopping things again a second time. And it seems unfair that you never had a chance to speak up like you should have. You've always been a proprietor in people asking for what they want - why didn't you?

And then you wonder if Prince Polo Shirt is really any better than Rabid in Brooklyn.

And that pisses you the fuck off.

As the adage goes, though, there is someone out there for everyone. And the more you think about it, maybe you’re just not it for Polo here. He’s sure to find a doting woman who can’t wait to be a wife with a family like Octomom. It’s not like you’re even allergic to the idea of marriage or family life, even; you know you’d be phenomenal at both and drink beer while doing it (after bedtime for the kids, of course). You just want to experience life more, be able to build on the memories you’re collecting so that when the time comes, you are ready to. You know you and he are in two different places in life. And it’s not that you didn’t want to marry Polo, either; you just thought it was too soon to say. It's disappointing to know you couldn't be in the same platform. Don’t people get dogs and stuff before they decide to swap spit for the rest of their lives, anyway?

“It’s better that we build on the dreams in our world/Than a bridge between the two that could never hold our weight” – The Whitest Boy Alive, “Rollercoaster Ride”

So now you’re sitting here with a bit of a broken heart, trying to resketch your final portfolio proposal that was based entirely around him to now be something independent of him, and thinking of the wine you could be having at two in the afternoon. And you’re thinking not so much that you’re damaged goods (hello, you used the line “You’re awesome, I’m awesome, let’s be awesome together” yesterday on Polo boy - you are definitely awesome), but that maybe you need to reassess your approach to relationships. You want the romantics and the charm and the companionship, but you also want a co-pilot and independence and jokes about Yetis. That duality of yours in your personality: you are the most logical and the most emotional person you know. Your brain would love to kick your heart’s ass in a boxing match.

The thing is, you’ve been so free to give your heart away because you think that’s what people do, or should do: love in the best capacity they can. That’s because it's what you yourself do. It's a product of childhood and a side effect of finding people who have loved you back unconditionally. Your family is a start. Your friends, they are definitely on the same platform too: a few of these people you’ve come to know are some of the most integral parts of your soul, and life without them would be absolutely unthinkable. You sometimes get teared up thinking about how much these people not only mean to you, but what you mean to them. They have driven you to see Boyz II Men without judging, helped you move house to house, and let you crash naked in their beds. In the short 10 hours it's been since you texted a few of them, they also have offered to take care of you, to buy you tacos and feed you wine and spoon you. They have your best interests at heart and don't think twice about saying “What a fucking douchebag” about him. You're all about the quality versus the quantity at this point in your life; people who make you better as a whole you're way into getting to know. You seek those to enrich your life, contribute to it, and make you feel good about yourself.

Somehow, though, this can't be said about your choice in partners, especially the most recent ones. You can't seem to find this in mates. It’s a curious thought. You are always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, and it's both your redeeming trait and your downfall. Maybe it depends who takes advantage of that.

At times I wish I really didn’t know who you are because of the pain you suffer sometimes like this. It hurts to know that your spirit can become shattered on the basis of other people’s actions. You deserve better than that; you are worthy of the attention, adoration, and energy of others romantic and non not because you’re vain, but because your heart – in all its honesty and pure feeling – is willing and ready to reciprocate. But I do know you, and the optimism, valor, and determination you hold. You spark things in people just by being you. Your life has been so fulfilling and blessed and contagious with joy that these stumbles, these episodes of hurt are only blips on the radar of your life (and also good fodder for that memoir you’re writing in a couple years). I know you because it’s me. 

I know for sure I’ll get through this, and that in a few weeks Prince Polo Shirt and I will be back to regular. We'll hang out and do stuff and say things and have a merry time doing what friends do. At the end of the day, he's a good guy; I want to be friends with him. But for now, he is the hugest dickbag I've ever known, and I need some time to be away from him. I need space to be angry and vengeful and to plot my world domination plan. I need some safety in which I can cry out some pain and sadness. For a little bit, I will reflect and deep think and wallow in something I like to call light alcoholism and self-deprecating behavior – if not to brighten my spirits a bit, to cause a tiny ruckus for that little memoir. I owe myself that much. Men come and go as they please, but my friends and sparkly vampire chests are here to stay. And I want to find someone who can appreciate both the horror and humor in that.

“Steady walking but bound to trip/Should release but just tighten my grip/Night time, sympathize, I've been working on white lies/So I'll tell the truth, I'll give it up to you/And when the days come, it will have all been fun/We'll talk about it soon” – The xx, “Night Time”