The Temerity of a Hurricane

I don’t often talk about my dating life on here…mostly because it doesn’t really exist. Life has felt heavy for a long time, and I haven’t had much space for spontaneity. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel. I do…probably more than I let on.

About six months ago, I went out with someone. It was quietly devastating to realize he didn’t see it as a date. Not only that, we weren’t even really “friends.” Just a full TKO. Months later, he resurfaced—angry—accusing me of telling people we were dating, saying he had been giving “mixed signals” while seeing someone else. It was such a specific accusation that the only explanation I could come up with was that someone had misinterpreted my excitement.

Because that is something I know about myself: when I’m excited about a project, a person, a possibility—I can lack discretion. I share it. Freely. Maybe too freely.

But what stayed with me wasn’t just the rejection. It was how quickly the narrative shifted into me being someone who had imagined something that wasn’t there. He told me I had “confused his aloha for attraction,” that he was trying to be a good friend, and that I made it weird. And for a moment, I let that make me question my own perception.

What frustrates me is this: I’ve walked away from situations before because I could see exactly where they were headed. I’ve had that instinct—this is going to be messy, don’t get pulled into this—and I listened. I didn’t chase, I didn’t push, I didn’t ignore the signs.

And still…it hurt.

Which makes me wonder if the issue isn’t that I’m doing it wrong. It might just be that I don’t love small. When I feel something, I feel it fully. I don’t know how to half-care, or half-invest, or keep things light just for the sake of protecting myself. And maybe that’s not something to fix.

Maybe it just means I have to be more careful about who gets access to that part of me.

I do not love small. I’ll adore you with the temerity of a hurricane or not at all. — s.m. klees