She is a pixie, adept in her gentle laughter and so easily taken by the thrill of being alive. I interpret it as being open to the universe and take it one step further in my mind by comparing myself to her openness. I have always been jealous of her and it has gotten in the way of me being able to see myself and it has also gotten in the way of me being able to acknowledge the dark side of being a pixie and the moments where we all doubt our freedom and dwell in the masochistic splendor of negative thought spirals.
She finds me in the street typing poetry and has no problem celebrating my creative endeavors: lifting me up into her fantasy. I am not able to see the present because I am dwelling in my own shortcomings and feeling embarrassed about deciding to take such an extravagant voyage on the wings of heartbreak and mental breakdowns. She reminds me that we are having the time of our lives, that it is brave and magical to pursue alternative dreams. She has left the confines of a traditional living structure and lives out of a bus where she wants to create collaborative art pieces. She takes showers at 24 Hour Fitness and drives people around Los Angeles as an Uber driver. She says we are free and she talks in the same fantastical way she has always drawn me in. I am bowed down by her confidence, wondering why I can’t find that same boost; maybe I am balancing out her idealistic light.
She loves being in a poly relationship because she is able to explore as much as she wants. I am aghast at her revelry, coming out of a possessive open relationship where I felt heartbroken to find that my partner had been snuggling with somebody else that he was in love with for weeks without me knowing. I was ashamed by the fact that I didn’t want to share him with anybody else. I was afraid we would lose each other. I was afraid of losing him. She laughs, “Think about it. Would you want me to be your only friend?” and I smile and nod as though she is making so much sense, like that is the healthy way to think about relationships.
But the truth is: I have a hard time sharing my friends too. Logically, I want everyone to have as much love as they can get. I am happy for all of the loves that are happening, but my heart won’t believe it when I hear about all of the fun people I love are having with other people. I get jealous and hurt. I am afraid that I am losing them and that they will no longer be interested in me. I wonder why they can’t have that fun with me. When people give me all of their attention and I feel like their only friend, I start to feel claustrophobic and resentful. It is too much pressure and it is boring because there is only shared experiences. So, I can only surmise that maybe I like feeling jealous, that maybe it is a natural response to loving someone tightly to your heart; and to take it even further, maybe some people like igniting my possessive fire by tantalizing me with their exploits.
“It’s my Gemini,” she says, “I like to play around with a lot of people.” I love that this is a part of her that she knows how to celebrate. It makes it easy to jump in and out of interacting with each other across multiple realities. I love that it is a part of me too, a part of me that I don’t always know how to celebrate. If I can be happy for myself for having a lot of different loves, then I can be excited for my loved ones with all of their loves. We need all of the different flavors because everyone teaches us something new about ourselves.