When’s too soon to say “I love you” if you’re also a lesbian?
In her column DYKE DRAMA, GT’s own “sapphic Carrie Bradshaw” unpacks the validity of fleeting relationships. words by ANYA SCHULMAN art by Margaritis Georgios (before 1842) I just watched 15 minutes of The Bachelor’s recent season to see if Maria really is that hot (she is) and then listened to “Kissing In Swimming Pools” by Holly Humberstone, which of course made me think about the aforementioned London Girl.
The song came on when I was helping her pack up her life to move 3,459 miles away, two weeks into us knowing each other, and I did cry when she left. (She said, “It’s the song.”) bell hooks taught us that love is a verb, but when is it too soon to call something “love” if lesbian relationships are notorious for growing faster than Renesmee? The jury is out on London Girl (the jury being: people I’ve kissed who are now my friends).
But from my experience, here is an incomplete list of things that are easy to mistake for “love” as a lesbian: Helping assemble furniture Helping move apartments Buying you a Meredith Marks branded caviar spoon That floating feeling where everything is brighter and somehow minor inconveniences don’t matter because you feel a sense of hope about the world in spite of It All The way they smell Crying so much in public you get a free smoothie from the Juice Press by your DBT group A single, sustained look exchanged where you know exactly what the other is thinking Grabbing your wrist with a sense of purpose Even though most of these things are verbs, I’m pretty sure now that they are not love.
I always joke that lesbian time is like dog years. One moment can stretch to eternal when you’re savoring every second of them.
