1367 My People Call It Maze.


I briefly considered showing a little bit of Veronica and Reggie making out, but decided to just go with the hedge maze image. I didn’t feel like it was going to ad much to the story. On the other hand I kind of wish I got to draw them kissing at least. In any event this was the choice I made and there’s no changing it now. Maybe he’ll get a kiss later on.
I find Reggie’s story incredibly romantic and also atypical of initial sexual experiences. Spontaneous and perfect romantic moments like these are rare at best. Generally speaking at least one party has to do some planning for epic romance to happen. Maybe that’s for the best. I’m not sure. That said I’m not going to pretend that I don’t want to have spectacular moments of spontaneous romance in my life. I just don’t think it’s very likely on match dot com. (which I am not on, by the way.)

Love is an area where my heart and head are perpetually at war. This comic is a reflection of what my heart wants. My life is a reflection of what my head is capable of. I don’t give romance a chance to happen because I don’t act on impulses. Mostly because I can’t image a woman existing anywhere near me that has any chance of understanding me. I judge people as wanting without ever giving them a chance to prove me wrong. I am controlling the situation by not letting one develop. And in spite of the fact that I KNOW THIS I still do nothing to change it. And I already know that a lot of you are exactly like me in this way, because I can hear echoes of that style of thinking in the comments you leave. You, like me, want to be in control of everything all the time. Love resists control because it takes two people for it to happen properly.

I don’t think the Teen thinks I understand love as well as I do. Or people, or anything really. On some level she’s probably right because the definition of love varies from person to person. We all have various expectations that don’t coincide. Which is part of what makes it such a mess. I think that her definition of love is constant reassurance of love. Strangulating love, I have come to call it. Perpetually worrying love that can never be confident in itself. I’d like to believe I don’t experience love that way, but on some level I do. Because deep down I don’t believe I’m worthy of love and therefore it will never last. So it has to be tested, brutally, at every turn. You push and push and push to see if it breaks, if it’s real, until it does, and you are proven right. I don’t know why I’m that way. I come from a family where my grandparents and parents have been married my whole life. Happily by any reasonable standards. But I can’t believe in that for myself.