'How about an open relationship?' He asks.
'Sure', I reply.
Now what sort of moron would be prepared to have feelings for someone who may not be a player but sure has the potential to develop into one later in his life? Exactly, Me. Only I could kid myself by saying I need the experience for a proper partnership that could come about in the future when I'm actually hurting deeply, at a soul level. I know for a fact that this new object of my affection intends to take me nowhere near rainbows and fluorescent butterflies but dump me in the familiar endless wasteland of unhealthy obsession and depression. I am expected to let out of my window every night, imaginary doves with love letters attached to their talons and wait it out for months and maybe years altogether for subliminal messages of some sort. He promises to let go when he no longer needs me, regardless of my need for his precious company. He makes me swear that I won't feel deeply for him or hold him back from a lifetime of fun despite knowing me to be an extreme romantic at heart. Why make so grand an entrance into my life when all I'm rewarded with are soured expectations and a future of instability with him? When all I can treasure is the slowly fading memory of his melodiously soothing voice, witty remarks and that slight squint he has when deep in thought? Why do this to someone who could sacrifice herself for you and love you eternally without passing judgement based on your appearance and status in society? Unfortunately for you, every road has a dead end and 'Nowhere' is the kind of word I only like to associate with dead-end affairs such as this one.
