Chiomara

Oh, well in that case...

All of my relationships began in fairly interesting ways-- particularly the shorter ones, as well as some of my closer friendships (ones that began very suddenly and intensely and had a romantic quality). Those ones-- the intense friendships, I mean-- are my favorite I think. Having been a serial monogamist for so long, it would be nice to have something like that again rather than the usual doomed one-year-long relationship that only ends up leaving me drained and bored and used merely as a prop for their own self-realization without any care for my own needs.

This is a bit of a rant, but:
My longest relationship began on the night of the blood moon (did any of you see it? It was gorgeous and quite spooky) in April of 2013. I had been in love with him for several months prior to that. When I'd first met him at a dive bar in Louisiana two years before, I instantly knew (despite not even liking him yet) I would end up with him at some point. Anyway, two weeks after the blood moon, he declared he was in love with me, despite not having seen me in the flesh in nearly two whole years. It began as it typically does with these types-- I'm attracted to their intelligence and wit and goofiness, and they.. I guess, they like my novelty factor since I'm a bit (juuust a little) weird. They mirror my personality traits, and even claim to desire the same things I want-- they flatter me and call me a muse or faerie, and for a time I believe that they actually might retain that level of enthusiasm for me, however, once they have me, they completely stop trying and no longer seem interested in those things they claimed we had in common. This has happened so many times. Mainly with men who are my age-- I've had better luck with men (and women) who are at least 4-6 years older than me.
Anyway, with Matt, it was more or less a harmonious relationship, however I was terribly bored. (Nobody wishes to do things anymore! I can only spend so many days per week sitting motionlessly in front of a screen together.)

Anyway, back to the long-term, on and off, somewhat intense (in terms of how quickly we bonded) vaguely romantic friendships-- the first was Steven. He remains one of my best friends to this day. We met when I was 19; he actually lost his virginity to my friend while I sat in my room blaring Depeche Mode and This Mortal Coil in attempt to drown out their racket. He has dark eyes, dark, poofy hair with a mind of its own (he's native American), glasses and a disheveled demeanor wrapped up in a barely 5'8" frame. In many ways, we had little in common, but we had such a strange and intense mental/emotional/empathic(?) connection that it was no issue. If one of us dropped off the radar entirely--for months or years, even-- it was no matter, because we'd pick up right where we left off and do our usual routine of driving aimlessly from midnight to sunrise, visiting various dingy diners along the way. In the earlier years we dated on and off, though that never quite worked out. Our friendship became strained at times (even very recently, despite having known each other and gone through this for 8 years now) because he was a bit jealous and possessive of me. He had a very low alcohol tolerance; he'd drink too much and become extremely angst-ridden and pitiful, pawing at me and saying he loves me and wants me to himself. Which tends to be why we often only see each other regularly for a few months at a time before needing space again.

And then there was Francisco. He had dark almond-shaped eyes and wore high-waisted chino pants with dress shoes. He played the guitar and was a fantastic artist. During our first night together in our room by the beach, we were trying to open a bottle of cheap, terrible wine, but the fake foam cork fell in and dissolved in the bottle, which led to an absurdly elaborate attempt to filter the wine (using whatever we could find laying around) which of course just resulted in a giant mess. But he was so very determined.

I adored him, and still do though we're no longer in touch. (Unfortunately he seemed to suffer from some bizarre delusions, and earnestly believed that both god and the devil could speak to him.) I hadn't planned on it-- I liked him, but had intended to stay single for a while since I badly wanted some solitude for once, but he charmed me into submission. So I traveled across the country for him, and very nearly secured my own apartment in California. We had it all planned out-- we were going to write childrens' books/graphic novels together. He would draw, I would write. Later, we would pack everything up and travel throughout the country. I adored him instantly because our conversations were so wildly entertaining-- we were like brain twins in a sense, so even the smallest, incredibly stupid and mundane thing could become absolutely hilarious. (And I am always rendered powerless by the combination of intelligence + wit + an odd sense of humor) But eventually he hurt me terribly and pretty much destroyed me emotionally in a rather thoughtless way-- I guess I deserved it since, prior to that, I'd never experienced unrequited love, and I was usually the one to leave. It was really heartbreaking-- I actually almost stayed in California. I told myself if I missed my flight (and I almost did) I'd call my aunt in San Diego and meekly request a temporary place to stay while I figured something out. That was perhaps the most depressing plane trip of my life. (But, the kind man sitting next to me noticed my distress and let me have his entire cheese/fruit plate AND his cookies, so that was nice.)