Unrequited
Unrequited, as in the love is not reciprocal…
You’d think I’d be used to rejection by now, given that romantic love was introduced to me as a form of dismissal as a young girl. His name was William, he was 13, and he was so cute to me back then. I blushed each time I saw him. Visions of having my first kiss from him often replayed in my head, but fear stopped me from sharing my feelings for him.
In the early 2000s, dark skin Black girls were not seen as attractive and it did not help that my breasts and ass hadn’t developed yet. My crush on William was no secret to my fellow campmates because some people knew him and knew I wasn’t his type. They could tell I liked him by how often I spoke about him during group conversations. R&B singer Nivea had a popular song out that summer, which also became the mantra for a group of girls who made it their duty to sing it in front of me while William was around his new girlfriend (also their friend), to remind me that he did not choose me.
As I grew older, I would have my fair share of different types of lovers, and the ones that stung the most were those who hadn’t adorned me the same way I had them. To be intimate, consistently with someone who you have grown an affinity for, yet they do not feel the same way for you has to be the most isolating thing one can feel.
Unrequited, as in the love is not reciprocal. To feel love for another whom you assumed has the same fondness for you can shock the nervous system in ways that can make you feel inadequate. The underlying emotion is rejection. Unless you were raised by people who taught you about the feelings of being dismissed, this will hurt for the first time, especially when intimacy is already developed between the two.
He was an artist whom I dated a couple of years after my first partnership ended. He was a photographer by trade. We met in the summer when I was still reaching to find my person and I decided to take him up on his offer to spontaneously meet up for an evening that would end with a comedy show and a kiss. Over two and a half months, the man I didn’t deem as my type became someone I grew fond of. It was the way he was gentle with me that kept my attention. The way he admired me as an artist, as he saw no flaw in my approach to my art. He did not try to change me but he wanted to add to my palette to make me feel accepted. This is something I had desired in my last creative relationship. I thought he could be the one I’d been waiting for.
Unfortunately, his intentions were not pure. This relationship ruminated close to a year after it ended. His charm caught my attention but not enough to hide his true character when challenges arose. He had an unspoken agenda to gather all the information I knew about the art medium we had in common so he could use the information to his advantage for his projects, which made him more knowledgeable as an artist.
The intimacy may have also kept us together longer than we should have. But as time had it our expiration date quickly came after truths and challenges were revealed. Somehow I believed the foundation of the emotions we developed together would sustain our new relationship. But while we walked on the streets of Union Square on the night of our last date, and as he separated in front of me to say, “We can not be,” like a plunge at the pit of my stomach, rejection reappeared. I walked away, holding back tears and the truth that my love for him hadn’t mattered. I realized it was better that way to protect me.
She was discovering a new side of herself at a time when she’d developed a new role as someone’s mother. We met six years prior while biking on the streets of Bed-Stuy and during casual dinner parties from a mutual friend, but for some reason, our energies didn’t have the right opportunity to meet until the day they did. I am still debating if this experience can be classified as unrequited because for most of our relationship, it wasn’t. The reciprocity felt by her was genuine and unique. It opened a layer of myself I hadn’t allowed to flow naturally for fear of ending the structure I had created, yet her love was inviting, pure, endearing, and filled with my favorite adventure.
We weren’t supposed to connect the way we had but it was clear from our first conversation on that bench in Brooklyn that we were supposed to meet. I could go on to deflect the relationship by arguing that we were not in one, but that would be denying the truth. The semantics of a relationship with her were unnecessary because from her lips to my ears, “We’ve been getting to know each other, but we know what this is…” let me know she also felt feelings for me that went beyond friendship. I have a thing for secret queer girls is a funny joke between me and a friend. At one time, this was true. She was one of two secret queer relationships I had while I was not out. Now that I am confident of who I am, there’s no need to bare the burden of having a lover who can’t fully accept their sexuality because it lets me know that they would not fully accept me.
A month and a half of talking daily created one of the strongest loves of my life. History would explain my adoration for her was due to my inexperience and naive belief that she too loved me. In so many ways she showed through her actions she loved me. It was the alluring pull she had through her eyes, the slow pace in the way she spoke to me. It was her making time to listen and appreciate learning about my mundane day without needing to share hers. It was shown in how thoughtful she was by giving me gifts that reminded her of me while she went to a market or a thrift store. It was the way she made me feel so beautiful with sweet compliments in ways I hadn’t been used to. But when her energy shifted a few months later and she detached from me emotionally without a conversation, I grieved the unspoken relationship we had. The feeling of rejection resurfaced once again, reminding me that people can be fickle with their choices and you may not be one of them.
She would go on to disappear for years without an explanation. I’d hear from a mutual connection months later that she’d express that “WE didn’t mean anything. That nothing happened between us.” I can sit on my soap box and reveal the pain from this experience, but my years of healing will not allow me to.
Unrequited love for me, as in there was love there, but fear overruled the desire to explore the love hidden. I am thankful for the role that fear played, as I’d be stuck in a loop of lovers who couldn’t provide for me in a way that came naturally to me to provide for them.