Falling Back Into Orbit

Coke Talk of the Day


I fell back into close orbit with my ongoing romantic complication after five months of genuine friendship. More specifically, I fell back into his bed. One night, the planets aligned, and we went out together, and we ended up having warm, comfortable sex, and then we slept together. We woke up to another round of fuzzy morning sex, and then went out for breakfast. It was a perfect night, and even though at that point I was no longer vulnerable, I could appreciate how special it was.

Then I left town for a week, and while I was gone, he met some random girl on Bumble and saw her for four straight days in a row, and when I got back she was the first thing he told me about. He was crushing so hard, and it absolutely destroyed me. I thought that I was no longer vulnerable, but the juxtaposition of our night together combined with this freak accident where he suddenly catches feelings for some random girl. It devastated me. I want those feelings. Those were supposed to be my feelings. Bitch came along and snatched what should have been his crush on me.

It all came to a head the other night, and it hurt. A lot. I was suddenly thrown back into this fragile, vulnerable place I was in earlier this year and I fucking hate it. I bawled my eyes out yesterday like I haven’t in many, many years. I’m still emotionally numb from this whole situation.

He’s so amazing, and I thought I was over him — no, I was over him — but then we fell back in bed together and he immediately fell for someone else. I mean, for fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to deal with that? I’m tough, but I’m not made of fucking stone, you know?

Here’s the most fucked up thing. I’ve never wanted to marry someone before. Not really. For some reason, though, I would say yes if he asked. Like, really for real, and it fucks with me, because we love each other. We really do. We say it to each other. We actually say, “I love you,” and it’s deep and it’s real. Hell, he was the one who said it first, but for some reason he’s still chasing that crushed-out lovestoned feeling of limerence, and no matter how important I am to him, he’s never felt that way for me.

And still, I know this isn’t the end for us. This new crush of his will last the usual 4 to 6 weeks, and I’ll enjoy watching it crash and burn, but goddammit, there’s also a slim fucking chance that he ends up going the distance with her. It will kill me every day, and now I have to fall out of love all over again.

The good news is that every time I come into his orbit it gets a little easier to escape, but as quickly as I’ll recover this time around, it really fucking hurts. I’ve already started the all-too familiar process of emotional detachment. I’ll punish myself with diet and exercise. I’ll go on as many dates as possible to keep myself distracted. Every once in a while, I might even meet someone who’s worth my time, but the worst part of dating is the constant reminder that nobody else has ever come close.

Soon, this vulnerability will pass, and I’ll be even stronger for it. Maybe I’ll get to go a full year before this shit happens again. In the meantime, though, I am long overdue for someone I love (or could potentially love) to fall hard in love with me.

Vacation Weekend Mix

 

Vacation Weekend Mix:

1. Mess Is Mine — Vance Joy
2. Beautiful Girl (feat. Kyle Pearce) — Junge Junge
3. Meditate (feat. Two Fresh) — Probcause
4. Say My Name (feat. Zyra) [RAC Mix] — ODESZA
5. Closer (The Young Professionals Remix) — Tegan And Sara
6. San Francisco — The Mowgli’s
7. 2 Heads — ColemanHell
8. Feels Like We Only Go Backwards — Tame Impala
9. Pools — Glass Animals
10. Paper Aeroplane — Angus & Julia Stone
11. Ophelia — The Lumineers
12. First — Cold War Kids
13. I Wish I Was Sober — Frightened Rabbit
14. Helena Beat — Foster The People
15. Turn Me Up — Twin Shadow
16. Dangerous (feat. Joywave) — Big Data
17. Karma Police — Radiohead
18. Light of the Seven — Ramin Djawadi

WWCTD Tattoo

 

One of my readers sent me this pic of her fresh WWCTD tattoo.

As she said, “Hurt like a motherfucker, but I can’t even tell you how much I love it. So happy that you exist somewhere. It calms me.”

I’m happy that you exist somewhere too.

 

 

Dear T-Swift

Dear T-Swift,

Speaking on behalf of every sentient being in the universe, we were all quite happy to hear that you finally broke up with Calvin Harris.

Honestly, what took so long? We hadn’t seen a more clear-cut case of the too-good-for-him’s since Rihanna got back together with Chris Brown. (And no, I’m not suggesting that Calvin Harris is even in the same league of evil as Chris Brown, but you know, at least Chris is technically a musician.)

As for your rebound with Tom Hiddleston, well played, my dear. We don’t care whether it’s a PR stunt. We’re just delighted that you’re finally hooking up with celebrities again. Yes, that’s right. Calvin was never really a celebrity. It’s true, he achieved a minor degree of fame as the world’s shittiest DJ, but at best he was merely celebrity-adjacent, and we’re sorry, but we can’t have you fucking below your station.

You were never meant to mate with mere mortals, Taylor. Sure, those at your level are allowed a weekend fling with the occasional high-fashion photographer, and we don’t mind if a hedge fund manager’s douchebag son invites you to Cannes on daddy’s yacht, but we can’t have you writing love songs about long-term boyfriends who don’t have their own publicity team. Celebrity culture has rules, darling. They’re grotesque and unfair, but such is life, and being an A-lister has its price.

Not that you’re deserving of any pity. After all, Tom Hiddleston seems like a fun way to spend a week in London — he’s got the boyish charm of Benedict Cumberbatch combined with the smoldering sex appeal of Michael Fassbender. He’s dangerous and goofy all at once — the kind of guy who could totally get away with naming his penis “Big Ben.” Plus, he’s taller than you, which means you won’t have to go back to wearing ballet flats all the time. (Oof. I really felt sorry for you during the Harry Styles days.)

One bit of advice, though. If this whole #Hiddleswift thing becomes more than just a manufactured tabloid romance and you actually start spending some time across the pond, whatever you do, please don’t pull a Madonna and turn up with a fake British accent.

We can forgive you this year’s Met Gala dress, but if you suddenly start talking like a freshman at Hogwarts, we’re gonna turn on you faster than you can say Gwyneth Paltrow.

Yours in publicity,

The Coquette

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