Blackhawks

Nothing blows my mind more than having expectations for someone, for something. How even that in itself is expected—to have these expectations based on your relationship with someone, or even your non-relationship with someone. How liking someone automatically makes you dependent on them being a certain way or doing or saying a certain thing, regardless if they were the type of person to say or do that certain thing or be that certain way — that doesn’t matter, it never matters because in your head, it’s done, you’ve created this perfection, this image, this fantasy, if you will, of the way things are supposed to be, of the way a person is supposed to react because you feel like it’s impossible for them to be any other way—it’s just not possible, not fathomable at any extent. Because for some reason you think selfishly that what they do is suddenly all for you. And it’s not. It usually never is unless they love you, too, but even in those cases, people fail at that too. And I can only imagine a million relationships and non-relationships or those potential-to-be-the-most-amazing-relationships all come to a crashing point because of these misunderstandings, because we can’t help but expect the people we let ourselves get involved with to be some kind of invincible superhero except nobody—nobody is perfect, not even superheroes. Just because they saved us one time doesn’t mean they always will, doesn’t mean they always can, and it doesn’t mean they’ll always want to.