The Bittersweet Pain of Weekend Relationships

This weekend I had the chance to be the tour guide for a person I met by chance on Scruff, while doing my regular dance of avoiding masc-for-masc fuckfaces and married leather bears while (not) optimistically trying to create what I would call a two-income household for myself (as well as love?). 

I guess the biggest part is that I got to spend time serendipitously with someone I didn’t know, which is a certain kind of trust, doing vacation sightseeing in my own city, seeing the city through his eyes. It made me a little lonely, because it reminded me of friendships I’ve made and lost over the past few years, and of Cody. 

As I dropped him off at the airport I could not help but feel a kind of intense, up and gone sadness that left me by the time I got home, though I can’t remember what the distinct, with-words reason was. 

I think part of it is the frustration of meeting a pretty cool dude I’d like to see again but probably ever won’t, which feels like a cruel joke. Like, please dangle this reward for being an alright person but then take it away because I’m not working hard enough? Is that an emotion? 

The other side of the frustration, to me, is deciding that it probably wasn’t nearly as important to him as it was to me. That’s alright too. #Memories, I guess. 

At any rate, it will give me some strength to persevere, until the time that I can date (read: trap) someone in Dallas. 

Until then, I will continue planning Simba and I’s wedding officiated by Mr. Moose set to the tune of Chvrches Make Them Gold. 

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