I’ll Never Be Bored With You

To be honest, I sometimes wish I got bored with you.

I’d be pondering something non-consequential and then I’d reach for my phone to text you. Or I would see something online and wonder if you’ve seen it. I’d be tempted to share it, just in case it sparks a conversation. It’s been so long since we talked… and then I would remember why that is, and I would sink into a pit of self-loathing again.

All of this without a word from you.

I used to think boring people don’t exist. I used to think that not making an effort was what’s boring. Whether you hate or love someone, at least they know it. But you – you, with your silence, you, who tell me nothing – you still have me fascinated, and I am so tired of it all.

I’m tired of analysing actions and words from months ago. From thinking about how you would be around me, and trying to consolidate that with everything else that went down. I’m tired from making excuses, and I’m tired from hating on myself for things that are not my fault.

I’m tired of you.

But I’m not bored.

Sorry. I know. It’s not your fault. All you did was stand there and let me make conclusions. In a way, you were the ideal placeholder – interested enough to flirt back, but non-committal enough for me to actually make conclusions about your character. You didn’t really share anything about yourself, you just let me talk and talk and talk, and assign any qualities I liked to you.

No wonder I’m still not bored. I have a very vivid imagination – in my head, you’re a bloody superhero.

So here I am – even after hitting the bottom of my despair – combing through memories for clues of what was real. Did you light up when you saw me because you liked me, or because I was standing near a bar? Did you listen to me out of politeness, or because you found me fascinating? Did you hover near me because we happened to be there, or because you wanted an excuse to chat?

I’ll never know. And that’s what makes it horrible.

Deep down, of course, I know my fascination is not really about you, just like your crush on me – if you crushed at all – was not really about me. Crushes are great, but they are fantasies. Actual love is born out of the mundane, the uninteresting, the boring. It’s having the least exciting day ever, and knowing that you have an eternity of those ahead of yourselves, and thinking ‘I won’t have it any other way.’

In the end, neither of us wants to be bored with the other. And now, we won’t ever have a chance to be.

But I wanted to see the reality of you.

My God, I wanted to see it.

I wish you felt the same way.