Sep 2014
Riley—I wonder why you found me attractive. I know why I found you…
You were so inappropriate that I couldn’t not like you. You were the thing I needed, the fuse, providing me with a connection with which I could use to cause such destruction. You were wrong, and dark, untouchable, unmentionable and unlovable, but I loved you anyway.
He was sad, or so it seemed. I saw him for the first time I graduated college. He confided in me his ****** use. I never thought he would do such a thing.
He told me I lost weight. Afterwards, I went home and ran, skipped dinner and consciously worked out my abdominal muscles. It felt good to hear him say; it felt good to know he found me ****.
He paid. Usually I did, or we split, but since I picked him up he brought change to buy me coffee—he even had enough for a refill. We were wired, talking. He was so caffeinated and talking. He told me he was going to see a psychologist to see if he had Asperger’s . His struggle to pay attention and act appropriately in social settings made him think so—his girlfriend had spent her life around autistic people and she thought he might. I would’ve never thought he had anything of the sort, rather I thought he was merely an eccentric and that made him interesting. I asked him if he thought drugs accelerated the process, he said yes, laughing. I wondered if I did—I didn’t dare ask because I couldn’t handle the blame or shame of having once been so manipulative.
You were so inappropriate that I couldn’t not like you. You were the thing I needed, the fuse, providing me with a connection with which I could use to cause such destruction. You were wrong, and dark, untouchable, unmentionable and unlovable, but I loved you anyway.
He was sad, or so it seemed. I saw him for the first time I graduated college. He confided in me his ****** use. I never thought he would do such a thing.
He told me I lost weight. Afterwards, I went home and ran, skipped dinner and consciously worked out my abdominal muscles. It felt good to hear him say; it felt good to know he found me ****.
He paid. Usually I did, or we split, but since I picked him up he brought change to buy me coffee—he even had enough for a refill. We were wired, talking. He was so caffeinated and talking. He told me he was going to see a psychologist to see if he had Asperger’s . His struggle to pay attention and act appropriately in social settings made him think so—his girlfriend had spent her life around autistic people and she thought he might. I would’ve never thought he had anything of the sort, rather I thought he was merely an eccentric and that made him interesting. I asked him if he thought drugs accelerated the process, he said yes, laughing. I wondered if I did—I didn’t dare ask because I couldn’t handle the blame or shame of having once been so manipulative.
