My aunt, on the topic of love, has always said "when you feel, you know..." and I was starting to think that the concept of boundaries was as nebulous as trying to define the concept of love.
Identities, for me, are not permanent. Well, not all of them, anyway. I allow for plenty of fluidity and lots of possibility for change in my life, so when I say I am monoamorous, I generally mean "have been up to this point in my life."
Once or twice a year I let my mind wander and imagine what it would be like to have another romantic relationship in addition to the amazing one I'm already in.
I would never have to enjoy my life without him. I would have my pepperoni forever. He made me happy. He loved me. I loved him. This whole pizza thing was making me hungry and confused.
There was that one time when he had me tied up and was in the middle of sexytimes with me when she called...
I want to do it again. I want to understand why last night my tolerance for pain was so high I couldn't feel any of it; where other nights the sting of a slap on the ass makes the walls turn white.
The patterns exist and are recognizable. They are reinforced by the messages we consume, whether they are generated from the society's large-scale mononormative culture, or the small microcosms of polyamorous subcultures. We internalize and normalize them until we don't even see them anymore.