these things scare me

Copyright Tifereth 2012. This writing may be republished in part or whole for noncommercial purposes provided that the author is credited and the URL of this original post is included

These things scare me:

What if he loves her more?

Then he fucking loves her more, and you either find that the love he has to offer you is enough, or it isn’t. If it is, you appreciate and reciprocate the shit out of that love, and you don’t compare how much love you’re getting. Its not halloween and the love isn’t you and your little brother’s candy haul. If it isn’t enough, you leave, and you don’t worry, because somebody out there is looking to share a giant pile of love with you.

What if she hates me?

Then she fucking hates you, and if it’s the irrational sort of competitive hatred then you man up and pull on your big girl panties and say “Not cool yo. Sharing is caring, and thus I’m going to care about you. Deal.” If she hates you because you were a passive aggressive codependant needy sack of shit, then you man up, pull on your big girl panties and remind yourself that you get to share somebody awesome, and sharing is caring, and you need to try harder with the caring shit.

What if she’s prettier than me?

Then she’s fucking prettier than you. Get over yourself, obviously he thinks you’re a bangin’ hottie, and if she finds your giant ass and shitty skin repulsive, oh fucking well. This giant assed bag of shitty skin might have been down to be your new amigo, or your cuddle-buddy, or maybe even fucked you senseless girlie, but all that awesomeness can’t happen if we’re too busy comparing titties and feeling inferior. Our loss

What if she’s smarter than me?

Then she’s fucking smarter than you, lots of people are. He fucking is, and he still wants to talk to you. If she doesn’t? Too bad, you tell great stories, and your imagination likes to rock out with its cock out.

What if she is a better submissive than me?

Then she’s a better fucking submissive than you are, and god dammit you fucking learn from her awesomely kick ass expressions of love and devotion. Because you are a fucking team god dammit, and if you want to get passed the service ball you better be prepared to show off that fancy fucking footwork.

What if I get replaced?

Then you get fucking replaced, good luck, You’re a goddamn one off. Fuck regular unicorns, you’re the holographic signed misprinted limited edition space age expansion pack unicorn, and not everybody is going to want you. You’re an acquired fucking taste, and that’s cool. Didn’t acquire it? Taste buds change? First make sure he’s finished that course of antibiotics – that shit fucks with your tastebuds, yo, Still being replaced? Cool, I’mma go find someone who likes holographic space unicorns.

What if he moves really far away?

Then he moves really fucking far away, and either you start saving bus fare and encouraging your skin to spontaneously start producing more melanin for visits, or you accept that whether by one of you being eaten by a zombie land shark, or by the distance being an untenable bitch, relationships have to fucking end. And you will own that, and you will hurt like a mutherfucker, and cry your eyes out, and be thankful as shit for the time you did get to spend together, and then you will use the money you would have spent on fucking bus fare investing in teleportation technology, because you learn from the mutherfucking things that hurt you.

What if I get hurt?

Then you get fucking hurt. Hey, guess what mutherfucker? You don’t have to be trying long distance poly D/s to get fucking hurt. You managed it perfectly well doing live-in fucking monogamy.

What if I don’t feel special all the time?

Then you don’t fucking feel special all the time, who the fuck does? You know you’re a holographic space unicorn, you don’t need somebody blowing the glitter back up your ass 24/7. You know you shit glitter, a constant barrage of the crafts he’s gone and made with your glitter shit is not necessary for you to feel validated and fucking appreciated. Be fucking cool with him making special things with his popsicle sticks too.

What if its really hard to deal with my emotions?

Then it’s really fucking hard to deal with your emotions, and you do what you gotta fucking do to own them, and ride them out or talk them out. This shit is hard yo, that’s how you know its worth fucking doing. And don’t you dare fucking forget that this is hard for fucking everyone. Fuck post grad relationship shit, this is like trying to find the goddamn higgs-boson of emotional clarity in a shitstorm of every other goddamn tiny ass fleeting emotion you can think of, all crashing into each other, and all fucking three of you came pre-equipped with your own fucking large hadron collider, and made a fucking daisy chain of super colliding tiny emotional explosions in some kind of crazy ass attempt to find this hypothetical particle of perfect communication. Shit is going to get weird, and maybe you’ll fuck up space time in the process.

What if i fuck up space time?

Then you fuck up mutherfucking space time, and you won’t have to be scared about needing a teleporter any more.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Scroll to Top