So last night you came over to make the really grand gesture of telling me nothing happened between us. Nothing. Like, the complete absence of something. Hey bro, seems like if that was true you wouldn’t need to mention it, but thats just me. I guess I never realized what a strong word that was before though. Not one little thing. Like a black hole that just sucks any feelings away.
I’m not a completely crazy person. I understand that you were not my boyfriend. Not even a little bit. Not even close to a little bit. We were not star-crossed lovers. We weren’t going to fall in love in the last frame and make love to a movie montage. I freaking get it already, but there’s a difference between running off into the sunset together and ‘nothing.’
This is about feminism, Platonism and our culture’s stupid Aristotellian bias. We think of things that are physical or quantifiable as ‘real’ but ethereal things — emotions, relationships, ‘feelings,’ — those are thought of as feminine and are of little consequence in decision making. Just because something can’t be seen or touched or counted, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.
We didn’t date for three months. If something like that had happened, you would be okay with me having some kind of feelings for you. But because you denied me a label, you think you’re withholding your permission for me to feel emotions about you. What happened was, I felt like you were a good person. What happened was, I met your family and it was like no one had ever told them their son was really great before. And they reminded me of my family. What happened was, you kissed each of my fingers one time when I was falling asleep. What happened was, you asked me to be around you all the time because it made you happier. But, that’s nothing, isn’t it.
I’m not asking for a statue to be built in memory of this fleeting flirtation. I’m just asking for you to not tell me that I imagined it. Let it be okay to think something little was really great.
