"You're the star of our relationship," I somberly sighed into Solo's ear.
My face was nestled between his chin and the pillow, we held each other in bed.
A sadness washed over me, maybe even more than a tinge of resentment.
This melodramatic admission came at a time when we both had endured difficult weeks. Mine was leaps and bounds less stressful than his but when I finally felt secure talking about it, I realized he wasn't listening. I held onto this until I found myself whispering into his ear about the inequalities of our love.
The "inequalities of our love" being that he has to work for everything he has; he pays all his bills on a modest income, he is constantly working, his car is not the most reliable for the three hour commute, he is often tired from all the work he does during the week on top of his academic obligations. This meaning that I am often the financial sponsor of our time together, that I am often the one going to see him, that we spend much more time inside than we do interacting with the outside world & that sometimes bums me out.
If it seems like I was a whiny brat taking for granted the fact that this one weekend, Solo HAD come to see me despite the aforementioned obstacles and an impending Tuesday exam for which he was less than prepared, it is because I was being a whiny brat.
Why did this thought upset me so?
This would not be the first time that I was the driving force behind my romantic relationships.
Quite the contrary, more often than not I am the partner that spoils the other, the other's biggest fan.
Not because I don't view myself as important, but because I like to give 100% in my relationships.
I take a lot of pride in being everyone's favorite.
& also, I guess I've always firmly believed that successful relationships depend on one partner being the star and the other being the support.
I don't think these positions are static--they SHOULD alternate as one partner needs more support--but I think relationships depend on give and take.
Fatty once told me something similar; that two go-getters are inherently incompatible.
This is something I've considered a lot in the past few days.
Maybe this idea is the catalyst behind so many celebrity divorces and break ups:
The failure rate of celebrity relationships, as compared to those where celebrities find someone wonderful who isn't famous, seems to argue in favor of one partner in the lime light & one in the shadows.
Is that such an awful thing?
I don't know, don't ask me.
But what I do know is that my former partners have more or less not deserved the effort I put in, & often times did not appreciate it.
This is not the case with Solo.
Rather, Solo is someone reluctantly in the light who promises to return the favor under more desirable circumstances.
He is someone who completely deserves everything I do and someone I'm proud to do everything for.
He was quiet for a moment after I whispered my resentments.
he kissed my forehead,
"I'm the star, but you're the magic."