Gravity, stay the hell away from me.

With him, I'm dull, but cute. I'm not smart. I don't use my vocabulary, I'm usually quite loquacious, for fear that he'll feel I'm condescending. I'm careful to the point that I'm also trying to make sure he doesn't think I'm patronizing him, though what seems patronizing to me is perfectly natural for his limited understanding. I am condecentious at times when I'm already irritated, but he doesn't seem to realize it, and that idea in itself is condescending! I don't like patronizing, it's laborious and irksome in the truest sense of the word. I do like, however conceited I may seem for the fact, being intellectually superior in most cases, but when my intellectual superiority becomes an obstacle of communication and a conductor of strife, I fail to see its advantages in this relationship. So, sure, everything is fine while I'm forbidden to think analytically or express deep thoughts about anything, but as soon as I speak my rampaging mind--which has been screaming inside my head, growing angrier and more restless the longer my mouth mutes it--the shit hits the fan. Once, then, I find myself in the company of intellectuals, the veil between thinking and speaking is torn top to bottom, and out comes a clusterfuck of all my passionate arguments about life, love, culture, religion, politics, anything which has merit. It's then that I suddenly remember that I have an identity separate from the happy relationship bubble on the couch cuddling, he saying, "I love you," without even the capacity to understand me--to know me enough to say the three little words that crush the world they're supposed to complete. I remember that I believe in God, the resurrection of Christ, the intelligent design and seven day creation of the world, the principles of honesty, of integrity, and of hard work as a virtue, not just the means to an end. This is, by no means, to say that he is a bad influence on me, or that I would definitely be a better person without him, but it is to say that with him, the possibility--and especially the guarantee--of being or becoming a better person is nonexistent. I have no doubt that I have the personal capacity to exhibit my fullest intelligence, be an example of Christ, and apply more than the neccessary energy in school and work, I have only guarantees that said capacity is to remain potential and is never to be realized while I'm intellectually, spiritually, and occupationally stifled by my intermittent happiness in the restrictive, though at times elatious, relationship. The person I want to be is unattainable while I'm with him.