On Boys Who Don’t Let You InLet me tell you something. I have had an inordinate share of experiences with boys who don’t let you in. You know who I mean. The ones that are “deep” and “intense.” The ones that stare into your eyes longer than other boys. The ones that want to really know you, they say. Who are you, they whisper, under the night sky. The ones that don’t hold your hand but graze your shoulder as you walk to some auspicious place or another in the moonlight or at dusk but never at 1pm. These boys never ask you to say, lunch at 1pm. These boys that don’t let you in want to know all of you, they say. They want to dive into your mind for the peace you bring, for the prose in your daily musings, for the various this and thats that make this connection so meaningful, so different, so right. They ask for your earliest memories. They wonder aloud who you’ll be at fifty five. When you were nineteen they told you they couldn’t wait until you were thirty two. You amaze them, you inspire them, they are in awe, they say, how can you exist so easily, so readily in this topsy turvy world. But I’m going to tell you something and I know you know it. These boys never let you in. They never let you in because they never stay. They never stay because staying means 1pm lunches. And staying means 3pm phone calls. Staying means rides to the airport during traffic. And talking it out when no one wants to. It means telling you that they are not in awe, not enamored, not inspired by your inability to self-reflect, occasionally, when you’re being an asshole. These boys that don’t let you in are the boys that don’t study for the LSAT. They’re the ones that, if they don’t ace it with zero prep, play the guitar and bartend for a few years. Maybe they read Fanon. They look for infallible heroes. They’re disappointed in humanity. So disgusted by the human race. They might have one cause. They might throw themselves into that with abandon. They may eschew family and attachment for the righteousness of that cause. The full commitment which they are willing to give to that. But never also, to you. The boys that don’t let you in will love the idea you represent. They do it so convincingly you believe they will love you too. But the door you’re searching for is fickle. Its patterns, unpredictable and spastic. You could have sworn it was there, a moment ago, but now you’ve just said the absolute wrong thing. Your boy who won’t let you in looks at you from a million miles away. You’ve asked for too much. You’ve asked, in the first place. You’ve offended with your asking. You’ve assumed an intimacy you’ve never shared. You don’t amaze them. You’re far from an inspiration. There’s no awe here. You exist, sure. You exist to disappoint them. Just like everyone else.