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After living that dorm life freshman year, I decided that it wasn’t for me. So, for the first semester of sophomore year I moved back home and worked two jobs to save up enough money for an apartment. During winter break, right before spring semester started, I found a room in a four bedroom two bathroom duplex within walking distance from my school for the low low of $400/month. Each room was leased separately and two girls were already living there in the lower level which left me on the ground level with my own bathroom.
One of the girls, to this day, I have never actually seen. I know she was there because he name was written on all her food and her laundry detergent and occasionally I heard her giggling with our other roommate, but I have no clue what she looks like or when she moved out. This piece is gonna focus on the other girl, let’s call her Shanika (You may have noticed by now that I’m using fake names in this series and, while I’d like to say it’s to protect identities, I actually just don’t remember any of their real names *insert shrug emoji*).
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Whenever I talk about my disinterest is romantic love the response is, “awww, who hurt you?” And that's such a fucking annoying thing to say. A broken heart is such a boring excuse for giving up on love and I'm lowkey insulted people think I'm that melodramatic. I have known heart ache many more times than I have known love and still, I would suffer through a thousand more broken hearts to experience just 1 more great love. It's worth it. Every time.
But no, I'm too selfish to ever award the reason for my decision to someone else. My aversion to love is a bit more self centered than broken-heartedness. In the second semester of my freshman dorm life I got a new roommate. This one was also white but, unlike my last roommate, this new girl wasn’t into keeping to herself. She was an extrovert who did wild shit like talk to me everyday, wanted to meet up on campus for lunch, and she even came to a poetry event with me. Homegirl was nice and all but she almost immediately got the impression that we were friends, while I had the impression that we were temporarily sharing a space and nothing more. I could tell she thought we were closer than what we were based off of the type of things she’d tell me and ask of me. And I, not being nearly as mean and blunt as people give me credit for, would almost always say yes.
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