You. This. Here. Now.

I am the worst person I know for writing this.

The truth is that tonight my boyfriend comes out to an event and I'm surrounded by people and all I can think about is if I can do this fidelity thing. I was supposed to go to a party tonight where I'd be surrounded by my past, my unattached past where I called the shots and did what I liked, with who I liked. The line at the door was crazy and I was stupid about picking a time to show up, having casual drinks with my friends who came out instead of heading right over, and I don't wait in lines and didn't want to try and jump it by myself so I just went home. And I felt defeated. I felt like the fun part of my life is ending.

This weekend last year was epic. Scandalous. Drunk and funny. I walked into a bar to grab a drink before the event today and last year was sitting in a booth, casual. And I remember the first time I kissed him, it was Fall and he was wearing a thick black hoodie, he'd wrapped his arms around me waiting for a cab. We dropped someone off and the moment snapped and it was... that kind of crazy where your knees wobble when you stop and jump out of the car to stop anything else from happening.

The single years, about the last four or five years in a row, were full of compulsively frantic moments. Beautiful moments in my life. Tragic moments. When I look back at the majority of people I've been involved with, the stories I could tell about them are like tiny novellas. I don't have very many regrets, aside from a few people I've actually hurt.

The idea of the end of frantic, young, compulsion scares the fuck out of me.