Limitless

To assume is to presume and many people presume that if someone starts dating a being of the same sex that that person is gay. Even if there is no basis to such a claim with everything riding against it except the simple fact that this person is not dating one of the opposite gender. No matter the women I have dated before, I’m now gay because I fell in love with him.

Presumptions are dumb.

I’m inclined to act on mine all the same as anyone else, but they are still utter bullshit. Why do the lines have to be so black and white? Why can’t people be satisfied with gray? I’m more than happy with the blurred lines I have created. I have come to terms and I just like it better that way. It saves me from having to go through the headache of trying to explain it.

I cannot explain what I do not truly understand.

There have not been “countless” women in my life, but of the ones I have had the fortunes and misfortunes of knowing intimately I have concluded none have really been able to understand my hand dealt in life. There surely have been the ones who tried, and to them I owe a piece of my soul, but my devotion has shifted. I wonder sometimes if it was even theirs to begin with.

When did I become so wishy-washy about things? I don’t remember being like this before. Maybe it is just being around him that has changed my way of comprehension. He is not the most decisive person either, but he at least knows where his commitment lies. Was I ever committed to those women? I thought I was…I swore I was…once. It never felt like this.

I thought it hurt when she ate my heart out with those other guys, but it hurts just as bad to leave him all the time, Jesus… What happened to me? What changed when I met him?

I’m not a geneticist but I’m pretty sure sexual attraction doesn’t just suddenly change one day. Was I attracted to him then? Or was it just…him? His personality, his thought process, the way he handled things (or didn’t), I don’t know if this even started out as a sexual relationship.

Maybe I hadn’t fallen in love with his body so much as I did his mind. He understood on a deeper level than anyone else. He had been through the same dramas, he was dealt a similar hand. He knew me better than I did before we said two words to each other.

I fell so hard that night, and I did not even realize it. I thought I knew what love was, but I had never experienced it this way. It is like falling in love for the first time all over again but the feeling remains. After two years the feeling remains.

How do I explain something like this?

Are there even words for how his eyes glimmer as they peer up at me over the rim of his glasses? How he attempts to glare fireballs through my body when I try to take his picture? How he makes little hisses and growls to convey surprise or authority? How he grunts small sounds to answer simple questions or acknowledge your words? How he starts babbling in Italian when he responds to his own inquiries? How he tells me he loves me in his native language because “it means more that way”?

“Ti amo, mio amor…”

How does one simply explain the blush on his cheeks? The warmth of his lips? The purr of his tongue as he breathes softly into the kiss? My English skills aren’t nearly good enough to do right by those things.

I can’t even figure out how to unburden him of his baggage, much less define it.

Maybe our hand in life is more different than I thought. I had the support system I needed while he did not, and now all I can do for him is try to stop any further damage. I have come to terms that I can’t fix it, but I wish he would let me shoulder that weight with him.

It terrifies me. I know I hold the knife, but it isn't the only one. I know he promised me, but his episodes scare me. What if I just come home one day and he’s gone? Just thinking about it makes it hard to breathe.

When did I get like this?

What would I do without him? He means so much to me, I don’t know if I would be able to function without him now. I think it’s bad that I can’t understand how I lived without his scent encompassing me. I hope I’m not crazy…

“You can’t do that shit! You know I’m mentally unstable!” He whined jokingly.

Maybe some of it had rubbed off…

“You don’t need to explain it, l’amor. You don’t owe them anything. Ti amo and that’s what matters, right?”

Why the fuck am I sitting here trying to explain our relationship? Trying to become a pixie would be a more productive use of my time.

I like those lines blurred. I like not knowing what in the hell I am. There’s nothing wrong with it; I understand it. I love him, that’s it. Long story short. I don’t want to define it.

To define is to limit and, baby, we’re limitless.