Man, I get asked this all the time. Guys with that sign. Do they really jump in fast, or is it just some internet garbage? They’re supposed to be these big dreamy softies who weep over sunsets, right? I’m telling you, I’ve been around the block a few times, and I finally figured out the honest truth about these dudes based on my own ridiculously intense practice logs. It ain’t what you think, and it certainly ain’t easy love.
My First Exposure to the Whirlwind
The whole thing started maybe five years ago. I had just moved cities and was generally miserable, trying to find my feet. I wasn’t even looking for anything serious, maybe just someone to grab a burger with once a week. Then I met this one guy—let’s just call him M—at a friend’s completely random house party. M was all charm and attention, not loud or cocky, but just focused. Like a laser beam. We talked for maybe three hours straight that night, mostly about dumb, deep stuff like what we thought happens after you die or what color our feelings would be if they were physical things.
The next day, he was texting me non-stop. Not the usual “hey, u free?” stuff, but long, detailed messages referencing our deep conversation. By the end of that week, he was calling me his “muse.” By the third date—I swear to you, the third date—he said he was completely, irrevocably in love with me. It was actual, full-blown “I love you, you complete me” stuff, said with tears in his eyes as we were getting pizza. I was stunned. I bought it. Hook, line, and damn sinker.
The Detailed, Messy Practice of Being Loved
I thought, “Wow, this is intense. He’s sensitive and completely dedicated.” And for a while, it felt like I was living inside one of those sappy romantic comedies. Everything was heightened. He’d write those long, rambling, sometimes incomprehensible poems at 4 AM about how we were destined to be together in a past life and a future one. He’d show up at my job with expensive, unnecessary gifts, always talking about our “future” house by the ocean. It was too much, too fast, and I missed all the blaring warning signs because he was so damn convincing about the depth of his feelings. It felt like walking on a cloud, but the cloud was powered by a broken motor that kept sputtering.
The practice log from that time is basically a testament to emotional exhaustion. Here’s what happened almost immediately after the “I love you” drop:
- He forgot my actual birthday, which was only a month into the relationship, but then spent two weeks crafting an elaborate, hand-painted gift that was supposed to represent my soul.
- He was completely obsessed with my emotional state, asking constantly if I was happy, but then incapable of making a simple decision about where to eat dinner or which movie to watch.
- He started canceling plans last minute because he felt “overwhelmed” by the sheer magnitude of our connection, needing a day “just to exist.”
It was a truly draining rollercoaster. One moment, he’s swearing eternal devotion and planning our trip to Nepal; the next, he’s silent for two days because he’s caught in a deep spiral about something trivial his coworker said. I was tired just keeping up with his emotional temperature. It didn’t feel like a partnership where two people walked side-by-side; it felt like I was a highly trained nurse on call for a five-alarm emotional fire that only he could see.
The Brutal Truth I Earned
Here’s the punchline I finally recorded in my journal. It wasn’t love. Not the kind of solid, reliable thing that grows slowly. He wasn’t falling in love with me; he was falling into the idea of what I represented—this perfect, shiny new source of emotional attention. He didn’t want a girlfriend; he wanted an emotional anchor, a muse, a savior, or maybe just someone to finally listen to all the messy, disorganized feelings he couldn’t handle himself. It’s not falling in love; it’s emotional suction.
I finally got the clarity I needed when I ran into his ex-girlfriend at a music festival. We ended up talking in a completely inappropriate location next to a hot dog stand. She told me, plain as day, that this was his cycle. Every few months, there’s a new “soulmate.” He starts the same, intense, fast-track relationship, declares love within weeks, and then gets completely weird and distant once the initial romantic fantasy wears off and real-life compromise sets in. He confuses his desperate need for comfort and intensity with actual romantic, long-term commitment. It’s a defense mechanism, a quick-fix for feeling lonely or lost, and he’s damn good at convincing himself and the current partner that it’s real magic.
Once I stopped being that perfect, non-challenging solution—once I started having my own needs that required him to step up and act like an adult—he checked out emotionally, even though he still maintained the “I love you” status quo for months, just to avoid the pain of ending it. That’s the real kicker. They attach fast and hard because they need somebody to carry their heavy emotional baggage, but when it’s time to actually share the load, they vanish like mist. That’s the truth I earned, and that’s the truth I’m sharing.
