Relationships go in a cycle. You start off with the sappy and overly-romantic phone calls and text messages. Googly-eyes and dumb ass giggling. Can’t get enough of each other and everything is bliss. You finally get together, because that’s what the bliss told you you wanted. Things are still good. Things are still blissful. Things are still….happy. I have a theory. I call it the Four Month curse. Now this theory was derived from my own bitterness and bad luck and fuckery of ex-boyfriends. But I truly do believe that after four months in a relationship, shit gets real. That’s when those little habits he has start to piss you off. That’s when you realize that most of her shit ain’t real and you start looking at her differently. That’s when you both get too comfortable with each other and shit hits the fan. Arguments start over the littlest things but end with you saying she a bitch and she saying your dick game is wack. Break ups to make ups. I hate relationships. Which doesn’t mean shit because I’m in one. And haven’t really not been in one since I was 15. I love them because out of everyone in the world, there is one person who you can call on and truly give your all to. There is one person who will, at least in theory, love and care for you unconditionally. I hate them because that shit never really happens. You know when you’re watching food commercials and that shit looks so good on television and it makes me you wanna hop in your car right now and devour that food. Then you order what seems to be so fucking good and worth it, and it’s shit. Shit on a stick. No flavor, no taste, bland as hell, makes you sick to your stomach. But you can’t stop eating, you came all this way. Might as well eat it, right? That’s a relationship. As a female, you give all you can because you think that’s what he wants. Cook, clean, shit maybe even bathe the nigga if you into that type of thing. But you give your all because that’s what you were told to do. Give your man the makings of a king. As a man, you can’t show her your emotions. You can’t show her that you truly do appreciate the shit she does for you. You can’t tell her that the reason you’re afraid of commitment is because you saw your parents split and you could never be apart of the reason your mother is unhappy. Then she thinks you don’t care and start doing female, spiteful bullshit. You react. Somebody cheats. Somebody cries. Break ups, no make ups. Why do we put ourselves through anger and frustration to only end up heartbroken and emotionally scared forever? Because someone told us that love is worth it and the ending result will take away all the pain. I don’t know if I can hold any longer.
I saw an interracial gay couple in the city last night and my heart almost melted. They were holding hands and gushing at each other. And the black guy was all googly-eyed and that cute kind of shy, and the white guy was the domineering one, taking care of his own. Looking at them made me think that we have come a very long way. It made me smile from ear to ear to see that love is no longer being so stringently defined. It makes me smile to see a couple that probably faces double the amount of discrimination and backlash, walk so freely and lovingly in the city. I hope that as time progresses, things will get better. And love will be love, an free-feeling emotion rather than a strictly defined word.
