love,
I did not say so many of the things in my head that I think, relentlessly. I’m ever restless, waiting to know, or to feel without such thick bounds on the level of interaction. Like a child, or a girl who follows her boss around hoping he would glance her way, like every pathetic crush I left off out of absurdity. Really this is becoming too taxing on my being. I cannot afford to love you still, at such sporadic levels. I need to stare in your eyes, and finish our conversations, and argue until I kiss you to shut you up. I have to end this affair, because the toll on my life is not for you, and though I do not see it pull at the edges of yours, I know it must.
Why should love ever feel like this restriction? Like this dark karma on the edge of existence, real enough to see and touch, but not to support growth. I need the normal affection; the lack only feeds my addiction. When our only physical relationship is desperate lust, the appetite is not sated, only enflamed. (Imagine really living the fantasy with me, not thinking of it alone. Anywhere you are a flick of my hips to remind what waits for your return). Desire is not to be smothered, is to be practiced. Behind doors, whether open or closed, that can be shared with a partner. Sex that seems petty to share, because you know they can’t, even if you tried to tell them. I do not even have an interest at sneaking ideas of what we did into conversation, because I don’t want to jinx it, or because I can’t describe it, or because I don’t care to see it reduced by the eyes of my peers.
Thinking further on this today, I have come to the conclusion you must not want to love me either. I do not understand your choices, and vaguely fear you are not making them, you are just sitting by and watching it flow by. While I may have advocated such a practice when I was younger, and more naïve, I can catalogue the things I have gained in stagnation. Most of them are not mine, and many of them are more burden than grace. I wish, and I have Never said this before, that my attraction to you were trite enough to drown in pointless folly and nameless encounters. But alas, I tried that at the beginning of, Oh Shit, I think I have Feelings for James. So instead, I sought to discredit them with, You are a child and too silly to Love anyone romantically. This, also, is proving to be a phenomenal failure. So now we are arrived here at, Fuck it, find something else to do.
I fantasize about saying things like: I am in love with you. You slip that out so easy, like I am your sister and should just know it already. And I refuse to believe it, and hide from the idea in my own head. Or better chase it around with practical arguments, like: When in the last year has this man given you any inkling that he is interested in anything more than using you to fill the spaces in his current relationship? Or: Just because you remember it, and enjoyed… well, all of it, does not make it the best sex of your life. Or, best yet: Does he not tell you all the time he has no interest in commitment, family, or a lifetime together?
So, as the embodiment of all the things I should not want in a man, you are hopelessly exactly the man I would have gone looking for… if I had chosen to seek a mate. Thanks for fucking up everyone else’s chances, and leaving me full of holes. The spaces which used to be filled by my best friend (who’d rather be lovers) are now just gaping reminders that I am just not “that girl” for anyone. I never thought, ever, that being mom was not going to fill every need for love in my life. I realize now, that your partner frames you in a way your children can’t. Without that proverbial high five, good day, see you tomorrow even rain storms are not as uplifting as they once were.
Okay, enough. I love you. I hope you find what you need in the big bad wilderness. We need to cut our ties now. I can’t be her crutch, I do not like her enough to soften the edges. And sadly the hunger that I take away when I leave is never sated by our next meeting. So I am not going to beg for you, or your attention, I am just going to faze you out like an expensive friend.
m
I did not say so many of the things in my head that I think, relentlessly. I’m ever restless, waiting to know, or to feel without such thick bounds on the level of interaction. Like a child, or a girl who follows her boss around hoping he would glance her way, like every pathetic crush I left off out of absurdity. Really this is becoming too taxing on my being. I cannot afford to love you still, at such sporadic levels. I need to stare in your eyes, and finish our conversations, and argue until I kiss you to shut you up. I have to end this affair, because the toll on my life is not for you, and though I do not see it pull at the edges of yours, I know it must.
Why should love ever feel like this restriction? Like this dark karma on the edge of existence, real enough to see and touch, but not to support growth. I need the normal affection; the lack only feeds my addiction. When our only physical relationship is desperate lust, the appetite is not sated, only enflamed. (Imagine really living the fantasy with me, not thinking of it alone. Anywhere you are a flick of my hips to remind what waits for your return). Desire is not to be smothered, is to be practiced. Behind doors, whether open or closed, that can be shared with a partner. Sex that seems petty to share, because you know they can’t, even if you tried to tell them. I do not even have an interest at sneaking ideas of what we did into conversation, because I don’t want to jinx it, or because I can’t describe it, or because I don’t care to see it reduced by the eyes of my peers.
Thinking further on this today, I have come to the conclusion you must not want to love me either. I do not understand your choices, and vaguely fear you are not making them, you are just sitting by and watching it flow by. While I may have advocated such a practice when I was younger, and more naïve, I can catalogue the things I have gained in stagnation. Most of them are not mine, and many of them are more burden than grace. I wish, and I have Never said this before, that my attraction to you were trite enough to drown in pointless folly and nameless encounters. But alas, I tried that at the beginning of, Oh Shit, I think I have Feelings for James. So instead, I sought to discredit them with, You are a child and too silly to Love anyone romantically. This, also, is proving to be a phenomenal failure. So now we are arrived here at, Fuck it, find something else to do.
I fantasize about saying things like: I am in love with you. You slip that out so easy, like I am your sister and should just know it already. And I refuse to believe it, and hide from the idea in my own head. Or better chase it around with practical arguments, like: When in the last year has this man given you any inkling that he is interested in anything more than using you to fill the spaces in his current relationship? Or: Just because you remember it, and enjoyed… well, all of it, does not make it the best sex of your life. Or, best yet: Does he not tell you all the time he has no interest in commitment, family, or a lifetime together?
So, as the embodiment of all the things I should not want in a man, you are hopelessly exactly the man I would have gone looking for… if I had chosen to seek a mate. Thanks for fucking up everyone else’s chances, and leaving me full of holes. The spaces which used to be filled by my best friend (who’d rather be lovers) are now just gaping reminders that I am just not “that girl” for anyone. I never thought, ever, that being mom was not going to fill every need for love in my life. I realize now, that your partner frames you in a way your children can’t. Without that proverbial high five, good day, see you tomorrow even rain storms are not as uplifting as they once were.
Okay, enough. I love you. I hope you find what you need in the big bad wilderness. We need to cut our ties now. I can’t be her crutch, I do not like her enough to soften the edges. And sadly the hunger that I take away when I leave is never sated by our next meeting. So I am not going to beg for you, or your attention, I am just going to faze you out like an expensive friend.
m