I am 21 years old, I already have a good job, I have a good personal life. I have been living with my boyfriend for a year and seven or eight months, not that important. I know his parents, he knows mine. My mom is crazy about him. He is decent, well-mannered, straight, funny, sociable. All in all, the whole package. He helps me, he doesn’t screw up cooking, he earns money. What else can I say – a dream. I am a Muslim, but without fanaticism: I dress as I want, wear makeup, I know no bans in anything, and his parents accepted me.
There is one “but”: I do not see from him the emotion of admiration and other nice nonsense. They say you have to believe the deeds, not the words, so there are beautiful male deeds, but I do not have enough words of tenderness. I must be silly.
There is one “but”: I do not see from him the emotion of admiration and other nice nonsense. They say you have to believe the deeds, not the words, so there are beautiful male deeds, but I do not have enough words of tenderness. I must be silly.
And then one day I got him (to be honest, not the first time, and my character is disgusting, but he put up with me). He went away to a friend’s house without telling me. I broke all the dishes, and left with a song in the night to nowhere (I live in this city for only 3 years, somehow not acquired friends, still a family like, live once together, work constantly – there was no time, in general). And so I go, so, through town, a car stops and pops out of there my old friend (the first person with whom I communicated in this city, then I started living in a relationship and cut off the ends), and with this friend’s brother, with whom we were connected for a while so to speak warmer relations than friendly. It turns out that his old feelings (which I assumed were not there) came flooding back on him. The bouquet of flowers, the attention, the words that I had missed so much – in general, I floated. Like a fool, like a foolish child. But I kept it together.
We sat on the bench, chatted (no intimacy, kissing, etc.) with him, and I went home. He was a little bit more than a little bit more than a little bit more than a little bit more than a little bit. And in my ears are still all his words about the mountain of gold. I understand that all of this is a lie and that he is a total jerk, and the women naked every night on the roof of the car, and smokes all kinds of trash and in general a mama’s boy in fact. All in all, a disgusting character. But I am so attracted to him, no, not physically. Morally. I heard from him: “It’s not your life with him, I know you, you’re just as crazy as me.”
And everything collapsed. I was trying so hard to convince myself that I was so nice and homely and that my man was the best. And now I can not understand: is it a longing for affectionate words, or I live “not my” man, and my type is just such scumbags, whose words can not be trusted. Or is it fate, or my stupidity?
People reacted to this story.
Show comments Hide commentsThat is exactly your stupidity. But there’s nothing wrong with that: you’ll be convinced that “all men are assholes,” and you’ll live like all normal women.