But I keep running into situations that remind me how awful and scary death must seem to people who don’t believe in souls or an afterlife; in heaven or a higher power. If you think that when you die, all you do is decompose… that must be so scary. That must seem so anticlimactic. …
Who are you and what makes you so special that you deserve to last forever? That life is finite is what grants it its preciousness.
There is beauty in mortality. Which is more precious: plastic flowers, or the real thing?
… . Where do people get off deciding other people’s sexuality for them? Who are you to say that just because a girl only makes out with other girls when she’s drunk or for attention, she’s not actually bisexual? Since when is your seal of approval necessary for someone to call themselves bisexual?
You may not be aware of this, but liking members of the same sex is really difficult for a lot of people to admit to themselves as well as others. It can also be really difficult to act on … Coming to terms with your bisexuality can be really fucking difficult. Sometimes it takes a really long time. I used to only make out with girls when I was drunk, and I still probably couldn’t act on my attraction toward a woman without a little bit of liquid courage … It is not your place to define her sexuality, and you’re not accomplishing anything by belittling what could very well be her coming out process …
If she says she’s bisexual, then you should respect that and believe her. She knows better than you, and she could be going through a really rough time coming to terms with her sexuality for all you know. You don’t need to make her feel even worse about it by calling her a liar or slut shaming her.
Will repost this 4ever! All people REALLY need to READ this and THINK before they start in about so-called “fake bisexuals”.
It’s just another kind of slut shaming, bipobia and bisexual erasure … after all do you EVER hear someone called nothing but a “Party Lesbian”? No? How about a “Party Gay Man”? Another No? Why might that be … hmmm? Think about it people.
Definitely! I mean I know what it’s like to have a bisexual person break up with me telling me “oh I’m straight now” but come on! Experimentation is healthy, not knowing who you are is healthy, but it can be hard. Don’t make that harder on anyone.
This. I have had multiple people, including partners and persons in position of authority, tell me that the only reason I ever act on my attraction to women is to get attention/to please men or because I was drunk. And it makes me just homicidally angry, but I don’t always know what to say in response. “Fuck you,” while eloquent, is not always educational.
Also, there’s the whole deal that pretty much everyone is bisexual (to some degree, which still counts). Binary sexuality is a myth and an invention (which is probably redundant but there you go).
The boy who wears his comic books like they’re armor often sits alone. He is more comfortable with Iron Man and his own thoughts than he will ever be with a woman.
This is not necessarily a bad thing.
Because of his nervous tics, no matter how long they are together, she will always feel special to him. She will never feel commonplace.
The boy who wears his comic books like armour tries to tell her that he loves her each and every day.
She does not understand. She does not understand that when he says, “You remind me of Psylocke,” he is not actually saying, “You look like a scantily clad assassin.”
What he is saying is, “Girl…you have to be psychic, you always know the right thing to say.”
He is saying, “Damn, girl! You HAVE to be a ninja; how else could you have infiltrated my life so easily?”
He is saying, “DAMN, girl! You absolutely have to be Psylocke. She is the only character I’ve ever read about who is as graceful and daring as you are.”
The boy who wears his comic books like armour is not a good lover. The way he barely touches her makes her feel unattractive. That he’s only doing this because she wants him to.
This could not be further from the truth.
He is simply treating her like the only thing that has ever been this important to him before comic books. When he removes her clothing, he does so like removing the slipcover from a brand new comic, as careful not to wrinkle her clothing as he would be not to damage the plastic.
When he spreads her legs, he does so carefully. So absolutely carefully. Like opening the cover of a priceless first issue, afraid that if he were to show her his true passion, he would break her spine; knowing that just like a good comic book, she is far too precious to be damaged by two rough hands.
One day, she will leave him. Because feeling special isn’t always as important as feeling loved.
He does love her. She does not understand.
He will spend the rest of his life wishing that he were Peter Parker, so that he had a mask that he could remove, take them both to new heights, swinging from buildings, buildings suspended only by their love.
This will never happen.
This is why he will always be an endangered species; the last of his kind.