The paradoxical nature of US inevitably mirrors the paradox of YOU and ME individually.
US is the ruminating thought that occupies a fatigued, restless mind in moments of sabotage or intense longing.
US is the known, ingested and the frightening unknown.
US is a substitute for the concepts of genuine spark and nervous arousal. It’s that bittersweet cliché: we met at the wrong time.
US is irresistible resistance. It’s the frenetic force pushing against each other’s will. The desire to merge, and the compulsion to tear the other apart with our teeth.
US is the fear of engulfment, yet also absolute lunacy.
The dynamic of US can be tricky—confusing.
US can be a slow penetration misinterpreted as real intimacy.
US can be the long-term suppression of the urge to dive headfirst into something deep, mind-numbing, and destructive—only to be stalled by therapy bills. US can be mindful sabotage.
US is cyclical, repetitive.
US is that same river I step into over and over—a circle, a vicious cycle.
US is what I wanted to rush, while YOU kept it in a liminal space.
US can be the pre-contact phase I long to skip.
The insecurity of belonging that challenges MY autonomy and agency.
US is the ultimate recipe for disaster.
US is the womb-like fusion, a vast, amorphous promise that there will be no death, because what is not real cannot disappear.
The definition, the core, the concept of YOU depends on various factors. YOU can be a specific him or her, the physical memory I carry beneath my skin, the idea of belonging and unwavering presence I yearn for. YOU can be the bittersweet memory of that one date, the lingering essence of a spark that never ignited. YOU can be the deep volleys of laughter on a late Sunday morning that imbue the bedroom. YOU can be the bite, the imprint, the flavor in my mouth—the scent my skin absorbs and retains to preserve your essence, to revisit those memories later, in moments of self-sabotage or masturbation.
YOU can be tethered to the city I obsess over, romanticizing it over and over, perceiving YOU within the context of its monumentality and brutal homesickness. YOU can feel like the home I search for—and simultaneously, the one I must leave forever.
YOU can be the dopamine spike I chase during the first week of post-acute withdrawal syndrome. YOU can be the safety I avoid while drifting in the waves of inconsistency and love-bombing. YOU can be the one to whom I address all my words, yet at the same time, remain a vague sense I cannot quite grasp. YOU can be the cycle of addiction and dysregulation.YOU can be the coping mechanism manifesting through my shameless behavior in moments of discomfort I can barely handle.
YOU can be the ambivalent taste of lust and reciprocity on my tongue, which I swallow, wash away, and reconstruct after each another him.
The essence of YOU always depends on me.
The concept of ME is a paradox, and your presence—or absence—only intensifies its contradiction, as we are irrevocably bonded.
ME is the Tinder section labeled still figuring it out, accompanied by free tonight, silently contradicted by the repressed looking for love. ME is the bitter jealousy toward married female friends, intertwined with the fear of intimacy.
ME is the late Sunday hangover breakfast, embodied in a €3 frozen pizza, where the most delicious part is the slow erosion of late-twenties single-life independence.
ME is the deep desire to be tamed, yet the impossibility of imagining someone sleeping on the other side of the bed after a night out.
ME is the dopamine void—or the feeling of absolute, sometimes frightening completeness.
ME is finger-squeezing and a one-second breath hold when the memory of YOU strikes on a Friday night earmarked for self-care and solitude. The memory is so fresh and physical that the body tends to drown in the cycle.
ME is the entity longing for love, yet escaping from those capable of giving it, back to the dark, cold crossroad of trauma bonding.
ME is the mirror of YOUR actions when another HIM fails to activate my chasing pattern. Another HIM always remains outside the dynamic between YOU and ME—US—lacking intensity and toxicity.
ME is the refreshing, fulfilling solo trip and the disciplined everyday training, occasionally crashing on the rocks of shameless, irresponsible, utterly pointless behavior.
ME is the perfect one-night affair lover—and the worst second date.