When I was 18 years old, I fell in love for the very first time.
His name was ________ __________ and he was amazing. Tall, dark-skinned, slight of frame, beard. The most beautiful teeth I’d ever seen.
I can still tell you where I was the first time I saw him. I was new to campus, and desperately in need of black friends. I was sitting cross legged on the floor in the Student Union building during the course of a Black Student Alliance meeting. He entered 20 minutes late with his fraternity brothers, and I was floored.
He was darker than all of them, and taller, by a head. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a wifebeater. But over the wifebeater was an open, blue workman’s shirt; the kind a mechanic would wear. A wide-brimmed straw hat rested atop his head.
He was the first man I ever wanted that I was able to make my own.
Only, he wasn’t my own.
At all.
He’d made it very clear from the beginning that he didn’t want a girlfriend.
“No titles,” he’d said. And I’d agreed.
And we hung out, messed around, went out on dates, exchanged gifts, he met my parents. But he’d been clear. No titles.
Clear as mud.
When it became evident he had a whole other non-relationship, and a smattering of women around campus, AND off of it, I was heartbroken. And confused. When I’d confronted him about his indiscretions, he’d been as tolerant as he could before the shame of it all and realization of his position had his back to a wall. Unable to withstand the hurt in my voice and accusation in my eyes, he’d shouted, in anger, “DAMNIT! YOU ARE NOOOOOOOT MY GIRL!”
I will never forget that moment. As long as I live.
We grew and changed and our lives took us into different directions. We both matured into the adults we were meant to be, and he remains one of my best friends. And we laugh about it all, today. Well, I laugh. He’s still rather ashamed, and gets defensive.
But the fact of the matter is, no matter how much I love him, today, or how my life has changed, or how I barely recognize the girl I was at eighteen, those words, and the vehemence with which they were shouted, continue to haunt me.
I knew then, that was a lesson I’d learn one time, and one time only.
I’ve never had my heart broken again.
So my question, dear readers, becomes: Why are women still learning this lesson, today? Why are grown women paying taxes, getting bikini waxes, possessing expensive gym memberships making this mistake, today?
I’m going to stand on this working hypothesis:
When a man says he does not want to be in a relationship with you, he never will.
The end.
When a man says he does not want to be in a relationship with you, he never will.
I know no one wants to hear it. I know life changes. Circumstances change. People change their minds.
He won’t.
I’m trying to save you some time, here.
He won’t.
Oh. He might change his mind about being in a relationship. Being with you and experiencing the creature comforts of boo-hood might certainly whet his palate in terms of being properly loved and cared for by a woman.
That woman just won’t be you.
Let’s examine it further.
When a man tells you he doesn’t want to be in a relationship, he is stating straight out, point blank, that he doesn’t want you.
This is so powerful because it is entirely antithetical to how we’ve been led to believe they operate. This man doesn’t even want you enough to lie to you to convince you otherwise; he doesn’t even have the time to blow smoke up your ass. He is going to tell you something he knows you don’t want to hear, and risk the chance that you will walk away. He won’t even try to sell you a dream.
Because it’s NEVER going to happen.
That’s how committed to that shit he is. He is willing to risk you WALKING AWAY rather than tell you something different. Because, he could take or leave you.
****PLEASE CONTINUE READING AT THE LINK ABOVE. This blogger hit it on the head. ***
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- relationships •
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This might just be...absolute realest thing
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It was a bit long winded. In essence all she had to say was if he says don’t want you its because he don’t want you and...
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Wow, thank you for this.
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lesson worth reading. Girls.
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