The boy I loved didn’t know I existed. Then again, he was obsessed with Camus, so he didn’t know if any of us existed.
“
| — | David Levithan |
justice, n.
I tell you about Sal Kinsey, the boy who spit on me every morning for a month in seventh grade, to the point that I could no longer ride the bus. It’s just a story, nothing more than that. In fact, it comes up because I’m telling you how I don’t really hate many people in this world, and you say that’s hard to believe, and I say, “Well there’s always Sal Kinsey,” and then have to explain.
The next day, you bring home a photo of him now, downloaded from the Internet. He is morbidly obese - one of my favorite phrases, so goth, so judgmental. He looks miserable, and the profile you’ve found says he’s single and actively looking.
I think that will be it. But then, the next night, you tell me that you tracked down his office address. And not only that, you sent him a dozen roses, signing the card, It is so refreshing to see that you’ve grown up to be fat, desperate, and lonely. Anonymous, of course. You even ordered the bouquet online, so no florist could divulge your personal information.
I can’t help but admire your capacity for creative vengeance. And at the same time, I am afraid of it.
healthy, adj.
There are times when I’m alone that I think, This is it. This is actually the natural state. All I need are my thoughts and my small acts of creation and my ability to go or do whatever I want to go or do. I am myself, and that is the point. Pairing is a social construction. It is by no means necessary for everyone to do it. Maybe I’m better like this. Maybe I could live my life in my own world, and then simply leave it when it’s time to go.
candid, adj.
“Most times when I’m having sex, I’d rather be reading.”
This was, I admit, a strange thing to say on a second date. I guess I was just giving you warning.
“Most times when I’m reading,” you said, “I’d rather be having sex.”
It took me a while to get used to this.
There were so many people in my life.
I had spent all of my time listening,
learning the longings we all have in common.
I never took the time to hear them in myself
until I heard them speaking to him.
That desire for desire, that hope
for hope, the possibility of everything
truly possible. I had so many friends,
so many nods and conversations,
so many things I’d always wanted
to say to someone.
“You have the oddest way of coming on to me, Tiny.”
“I would never come on to you, because you’re not gay. And, like, boys who like girls are inherently unhot. Why would you like someone who can’t like you back?”
The question is rhetorical, but if I wasn’t trying to shut up, I’d answer it: You like someone who can’t like you back because unrequited love can be survived in a way that once-requited love cannot.
-Will Grayson, Will Grayson
(Noting this passage for future use - a veritable essay on this very subject matter shall follow)
I have the distinct feeling that flirting is occuring. Now, don’t get me wrong. I enjoy flirting as much as the next guy, provided the next guy has repeatedly seen his best friend torn assunder by love. But nothing violates the rules of shutting up and not caring so much as flirting - except possibly for that enchantingly horrible moment when you act upon the flirting, that moment where you seal your heartbreak with a kiss. There should be a third rule, actually: 1. Shut up. 2. Don’t care too much. And 3. Never kiss [someone] you like.
“
| — | John Green’s Will Grayson, Will Grayson, Will Grayson |
