He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Flea market guy and I turned a page recently. It was the page I have been waiting for, for a while. Since I met him, really.

He told me that he loves me. More than once. Yep, you heard that right.

He. Love. Me.

And even though I’ve been wanting to hear it from him, I’m having a really hard time believing him. He’s one of those charming people who knows just what to say most of the time. And although I’d like to believe that I mean more to him than just a few words, I’m not so sure. He and I had a pretty unstable beginning, a nonexistent middle, and now that we are on the other side of a year, I’ve become a skeptic.

He tells me that he’s not talking to the plethora of women he had been. I want to believe him. Instead I find myself rolling my eyes and telling myself he’s full of shit. I think it’s because I don’t really exist in any other aspect of his life even though I exist in the most important one. I exist in his day to day life. I have seen him almost daily since right before Valentine’s day. But unlike all his other girlfriends who I can easily find on Facebook, I am not there. We were Facebook friends once. The first time around. But when we stopped talking, I removed him from my life entirely. I didn’t see the point in keeping him as a Facebook friend if we weren’t actually friends in real life. I do know that Facebook does not define a friendship or a relationship, but all of his other friend girls are, in fact, on his Facebook. And the jealous part of me wants to tell him that if he loves me so much, prove it by changing his profile pic to one of the two of us. It’s not like we don’t have any. They are all just a big secret.

I don’t necessarily want to be added to his long list of female Facebook friends, because I do like the anonymity of all of his exes and current crushes not being all over my Facebook reading blogs and getting to know me intimately, but on the other hand, I just want him to acknowledge that he is in a “relationship.” He tells me all the time we are “more than friends” I remind him that we aren’t because I only exist inside his apartment and at Inskip Grill on the Sundays he can pull himself out of his hangover long enough eat something.

If history has shown me anything, it is that he will start to pull away soon. Whenever he starts “feeling” things, he ghosts me and starts talking to other women. It’s probably not the most healthy thing going, but at least it’s predictable. And I can mentally prepare myself for the let down which makes it not much of a let down anymore. Plus internet dating makes me want to kill myself…all the liars….

I know, I know. I deserve so much better. I agree. But like I said yesterday, I’m not going to be around much longer. So why pour myself into something I’m just probably going to leave behind anyway. Although, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see myself marrying flea market guy one day. But that is the curse of women who love too much. I see what he could be, not what he is. What we could be. Not what we are. And if he wanted to change, he’d have done it by now. Not that I hate who he is now. For the most part, we get along great. And when he’s not being…. aloof I guess is the best word or maybe kind of dickhole-ish, we are really happy together. He gets my sense of humor. We have lots of things in common. But most importantly, to me, we never run out of things to talk about.

I think he’s in love because we’ve turned a dark sexual corner in our relationship (his words, not mine), which I will not discuss until after we call it quits for good. I think it’s bad business to share sexploits about people you may keep in your life until you grow old and die. What would the family think at Christmas dinner if they knew the things we did to each other behind closed doors? (note: it’s really not that dark). But, seriously, I do think men equate acts with love, whether sexual or just things women do for them. When you ask a man what he loves about you, chances are he will give you a laundry list of chores. I love you because you’re a good mom. I love you because you always have dinner ready. I love you because you keep the house clean. I love you because you work so hard. Very rarely will a man tell you, I love you because you are smart. I love you because you make me laugh. I love you because you’re easy to talk to. If you find that man, keep him. He’s special.

I toggle between thinking mine is special and that he’s like every other man. I use the word “mine” loosely. His emotions swing like a saloon door, so for the most part my emotions are at his mercy. But like the nursery rhyme, when it’s good, it’s very very good. And when it’s bad it’s horrid.

We are still on the good side of things. But the psychic/skeptic/realist in me is just waiting for the ghost of flea market guy past. Being guarded is my superpower with him. And I think I probably won’t really give him the benefit of the doubt ever until he proposes, which will also likely never happen.

It’s a vicious, vicious cycle. But I do like to enjoy it while it lasts. And thus far, this is the longest it has lasted.