A Guy That Doesn't Say "I love you."

I must admit, it has been a while. Obviously I couldn't keep up with writing posts on a weekly basis, but it turns out even writing monthly is difficult for me. In part there has been so much going on in my academic life that finding the time slot to sit and write is difficult. But on a larger fault, I haven't been inspired to write about anything, about anyone. Anyone other than [name of a particular male].

Letting you in on the systemic thought process of writing this blog, I will tell you that I tend to be inspired by recent happenings that conjure thoughts of past recollections. Other times when absolutely necessary, (like when I was writing once a week), I would think of certain people who have made an impression on me most recent to that date and write about their impressions. In the past month however, every time I want to write a new post I realize it's always about the same gentleman and feel that constantly writing about him is unjust to the initial purpose of this blog.

But it's been long enough and I owe some sort of text on the matters of appeal. Whether it be fortunate or unfortunate, (I have not yet decided), the appropriate thing to do this time around is tell you of the secret of my lifetime: I'm in love and it's not complicated, until you ask who/how/when/where/why/what.

Sometimes I'm asked:

-by strangers,

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No. I don't do boyfriends."

-by family,

"So do you have boyfriend yet?"

"Nope. That's stupid."

-by friends,
"Do you still talk to [name of male]?"
"Yeah."
"'Talk, talk' or just talk?...Or 'it's complicated' huh?"
"No. Not really, not to us, not to me."

I almost always want to go into a long conversation about my beliefs on the matter and why, but my tongue gets caught up in my thoughts. And this is mainly what the current post is about. (I apologize if it's repeating a lot of things already mentioned in "The End." and "The Renaissance".)

• I'm in love with someone who can't admit nor deny his own feelings toward the matter. Mainly because he is convinced he has no such thing as feelings. In many respects, I am the same and for the most part close friends of mine will say that I "don't have feelings." A phrase I live by is "I'm already dead," and it's tied to the fact that I live without feelings, or emotions. The truth is, obviously seen from this blog, that I have plenty of both. The conflict is how rarely I show it on a humane level.
• It works because we share the same beliefs. Of which the details were discussed in an older post. To remind you, it's the belief that "being in love with someone isn't about owning them...Love, in my not so humble opinion, shouldn't be about an agenda or an end game; it should be present and it should kind of —’flow‘— happens how it happens," (Gordon-Levitt, 39:50). 
• For that reason, it can never be clear exactly when, it just happened. It still is happening.
• As many of you already know, not too long ago I moved from the place I grew up to go to college and this all started before the move. Thus, we don't reside in the same location. And quite frankly, it's become clear that we never will. But in a strange way, I believe that's the only way it can work. If I stayed in [place of childhood], he'd most likely be another forgotten teenage situation. The fact of the matter is we are both selfishly independent and our individual paths are more likely to diverge further than cross again. And in that sense, we couldn't be a more perfect match, because the worst thing a young adult can do is sacrifice for someone they call their partner.
• Now the strangest thing I have to say about the two of us is that we're both a bit asexual. I don't want to put on blast anything more than I have already about the fellow but, I can say I am still a virgin and we've never made out. In this generation's society today, it may be hard to believe but with several prior relationships being almost exclusively intimate in physicality, the one relationship exclusively intimate in emotion and conversation is the one that I most enjoy. The only one that can last the test of time.
• By "love" I mean pure happiness. In all my [double digit number ending in 9] years, I have never been more happy. All while not needing someone to say with confidence he feels the same way about me as I do him. Love is a feeling. It can't be described by words, in a literary work or a phrase coined by the city of New York. It can't be played by melodic instruments in a song, nor captured by light in an over-edited photograph. That's only the way the world is selling it to us.

(Seriously? The only image that shows "love" is that of the lions.)

With all that said, I suppose the (real) number one thing that appeals most to me as a not-so-average female is non-assurance. The air of not always knowing. Not being strung along by false pretenses, and broken intentions. But for the sake of this blog and because I still do want to continue it (hopefully I will finally be able to now that this is out in the open), this is number eighteen.

But there is another thing I must end this note on, this isn't a vow of commitment. To be quite frank, I set a goal for myself to be committed to this particular male for the past seven months, whether he knew it or not. (To this day I don't think he does.) A new year has just recently been marked yes, and for some time now I knew this would also mark the last time I might ever physically see this particular male. As some of you may know, I'm in another country now. It is because of this amazing opportunity that I have already set forth date(s) in the most cliched city in the world, that I have hopes of meeting plenty of new people (mostly males) both here and back in the States, and that I have realized this long and worthwhile emotional experience with someone who has become so dear to me has helped me see that I am capable of loving and committing. That I in fact am still humanly living: that I can never be single nor taken, but free-willing.