People ruin things. People change things. You tell people about something and it instantly becomes theirs. Their relationship, too. They’ll snip at it with their words, with their questions and before you know it, ‘our’ relationships becomes ‘the’ relationship. Takes on a different shape. They’ll point to a hole in the fabric and we’ll either stick our fingers in and make it bigger, or patch it up with someone else’s truth. We’ll start to think: maybe so and so is right. Maybe we shouldn’t be living together. Maybe he shouldn’t meet my parents. Maybe I should start asking him to chip in with groceries.
And so it goes until the relationship, the relationship that was originally just us two turns into 4 or 8 or 12. Multiplies until we’re seperated by a gulf of other people’s ideas. We won’t recognise it anymore. Won’t recognise each other. What we have will soured, spoilt. Mangled. And it all starts so innocently: This is Max. He’s my boyfriend.