I can see your disinterest plainly on your face. My voice slowly fades away, as I do not wish to waste my breath on deaf ears. You start to speak to me, but your face turns into candy, your voice sugar, your gaze is beyond my right shoulder. I turn to look at who you are watching and I see his face is a bit panicked, but is held on you. He floats by behind me and I close my eyes softly. Understanding and noticing more than I say. Your attention is back to me, but I no longer want it at all. I want you to fuck off. I'm annoyed and upset. Your intentions are so dense, it hangs between the space I am occupying and I frustratingly row away. I can't help but snap at you and your face crinkles in confusion. You keep telling me that you want someone else, but I catch your eyes on only one man. He's not mine, but I want him to be. You know this to be true. I dislike the feeling. Being jealous. It seems unwarranted. It is felt. It isn't all your fault. Perhaps you just really like attention. Or you're lying to me. I was never sure. One thing was for certain, and consequently, not your fault; he didn't want to keep me. This left me constantly wanting what I did not have. What he did not want.
I miss you sometimes. I miss the connection we shared. You brought out a creative energy in me. I bubbled over with joy being around you. It left me feeling quite drained. I felt like the joy was sucked out of me through my soul. You voiced this a few times and I just stared into space, unblinking. Wondering if you knew you were doing it to me, absorbing my feelings. Or, if that is how you felt, too. That I drained all of your essence after forcing it all to the surface. It felt like a roller coaster. Laughter followed by reflection and sorrow. I still wonder what my face was doing all that time. I had so much to process. So little time to do it. I couldn't trust you. I didn't feel that connection deep enough. I was aggravated that I didn't trust you in certain ways. I wanted to feel our bond in intensity like we had connected in other ways. Other people thought we really were dating. I was told we had to stop hugging at work. I'll admit, you put on quite a show with your caressing. It made me uncomfortable as well as those around us. I didn't have a sexual desire for you. I had a concerned, maternal love for you. I just wanted to take you under my wings and help you feel better. I was the momma dove, cooing at your smaller frame, hoping you would grow up. I saw through your games almost instantaneously. I didn't fault you for them for a very long time. You grew bored when you realized that you couldn't wrap me around your finger. I closed off when you told me that you thought your boyfriend should date me. When I felt your foot reach out for the man I liked. When I saw his whole body turn towards me, when his knee bounced off of mine and he looked into my eyes with annoyance and suggested we leave. Together. When my anxiety was through the roof and I was screaming internally.
I received a message with images of what I felt happen between him and I that day. The one when I decided to take a sober trip this time. To see what would transpire. The one where you grabbed the edge of my boat and your lips expanded while you spoke of what you would do to me. The day that you didn't tell me whether you were coming or not so I decided I don't like to play games, but somehow I was in the middle of several different boards. The day that I played some of the songs I had found that I thought you would like and you told me I was getting too serious with you. The one where I was left watching you row away wondering what you read into the songs I played and also hurt that you still ran from me. The day that I saw you watching her ass walk away and it was like a punch to the gut. The day that you passively aggressively explained you weren't coming with me because you didn't have a change of clothes at my house and I wondered why you brought it up. Did it mean you wanted an invite to leave clothes at my house? Or that you were glad that you never left anything behind? I didn't know we were being captured. I smiled and drew the image later. Your friend saw me sketching and he moved in his chair uncomfortably. Probably understanding what I simply could not fathom at the time; he did not want me. I enjoyed the time I had, but it was always borrowed time. I knew it for a long time. I didn't want to speak of it, so I pressed it down. Layer upon layer, jealousy, sadness, unrequited love. A shit sandwich, to be enjoyed when it was all over. Welcome to my delicacy.
"Whatever, they are always fighting. They'll probably break up again in a week." I rolled my eyes. Annoyed at how deeply they couldn't contain either of their craziness. I was grateful that we didn't have the same issue. There was pain and suffering in the relationship that we had, but we didn't fight. I shoved it all down. I felt rejected a lot of the time. But we never fought about it. I didn't hold it against you that you didn't care for me as deeply as I felt for you. It pained me and that caused me to be quiet sometimes, but I never put that on you.
"They are in love." He said it so plainly and I felt the silence. Not like us, then. I was in love. I wasn't allowed to speak of it. I wasn't allowed to express it. Unless it was just gently, shyly, putting a kiss on the edge of his face while he smiled, silently. Then I would back away and wait for him. Dying of silence. He never acknowledged it was there unless it was to say he didn't want it every few months. Just when I thought that my feelings were to be felt, not repressed. You would slam the door in my face. Delete your Facebook, then, ya brat.
I imagined the phone call. The one where he said it wasn't working. I imagined that I didn't ask any questions. That I didn't talk about my feelings. That I didn't say I cared more then I ever said I did. I imagined that I took a breath with dignity and perhaps admitted that I was upset and needed to go. Because, no one gets to see me like that. Unless I do care. You didn't deserve to hear my pain. Just as you didn't deserve all of the love I had for you. You didn't want it. Therefore, you did not deserve to rent it on my time. That makes you a special kind of asshole. A user of feelings. You knew how I felt. You felt it, too.
I felt overwhelmingly sad. Maybe I should just go home.
I blinked and I was still driving.
The sun began to set and my heart felt raw.
The next song came on and I turned it up. I belted out the lyrics.
You keep saying what I'm feeling. You laugh when I talk about how we bounce feelings back and forth. I realize I can't talk to you about it. I just need to write. About how I can feel a tingle go through me from the bottom of my sacrum, through my spine, and I feel like a ladybug drying it's wings. I'm spread out and full and vulnerable, I can't help it and I lay there open and accept the warmth. I feel your body reply, you know your touch effects me positively. You make a noise and its reassuring. You understand my response and you accept it. I feel entirely comfortable, which only makes me embarrassed when I realize it. You make me laugh with a silly voice and it only makes me sink deeper. I open up more and more. I am painstakingly awake, layers deep into very private parts of me, wondering what day is it? What time is it? I watch you rub your eyes and I wonder if you understand. I think it's so fucking adorable how you rub your eyes. Then I realize it is familiar, perhaps that is how I look. I hold my hand in the same way, tucking my thumb inward. I then realize your arm is flexing, as you use that power to smooth out a deep inner eye itch. I see you as an image, one I wish I could capture with a camera and settle for my own memory bank. How do you make itching your eye so hot? I'm deep in thought about how delicious you are, your lips are parted slightly. I can see your teeth and I wonder how teeth can be sexy, but yours are and I am not sure what to do because I just want to bite you. You blink a few times and ask me what and I just kiss your neck softly. I don't want to feel judged so I don't want to be naked. Curiosity over takes me instead. I wonder if you always feel exactly as I do when you say something about feeling shy about your body. I don't understand because I want to stare at you, you look like a statue. What I imagine any professional football player looks like without a shirt on. I want to jump you again and again. You ask me if I'm being crushed and I smile because not in the way that you think. I am comfortable because your skin feels like cream, I feel your desire to move and I don't want you to. You pause, feeling vulnerable, too. I can feel it and I rub your back, reassuringly. You are allowed to be. You tell me you are falling in <love> and I don't want you to say it because it changes things. Not in a bad way. It is a step more than I am ready for, but I can't help to feel it, too. So I close my eyes and smile. I'm sure you have flaws. I am good at pretending they don't exist. I truly am looking for them and I wonder what it means. I don't want for anything and that puts me at ease, too.
You get up and hand me a package, wrapped in a clear bag. It is something I would do. It's something I have done. For other people. I feel at home and I don't want to leave. I know I have to, so I do. I think about turning around for one more kiss, like I usually want watching you leave out my door. But, I pause, then keep going. I put my hand in my pocket and it feels so soft, worn satin; my fingers glide along the quilting. It's not as cold as I had originally anticipated. Or, I am just full of fire while I walk away.
I miss you sometimes. I miss the connection we shared. You brought out a creative energy in me. I bubbled over with joy being around you. It left me feeling quite drained. I felt like the joy was sucked out of me through my soul. You voiced this a few times and I just stared into space, unblinking. Wondering if you knew you were doing it to me, absorbing my feelings. Or, if that is how you felt, too. That I drained all of your essence after forcing it all to the surface. It felt like a roller coaster. Laughter followed by reflection and sorrow. I still wonder what my face was doing all that time. I had so much to process. So little time to do it. I couldn't trust you. I didn't feel that connection deep enough. I was aggravated that I didn't trust you in certain ways. I wanted to feel our bond in intensity like we had connected in other ways. Other people thought we really were dating. I was told we had to stop hugging at work. I'll admit, you put on quite a show with your caressing. It made me uncomfortable as well as those around us. I didn't have a sexual desire for you. I had a concerned, maternal love for you. I just wanted to take you under my wings and help you feel better. I was the momma dove, cooing at your smaller frame, hoping you would grow up. I saw through your games almost instantaneously. I didn't fault you for them for a very long time. You grew bored when you realized that you couldn't wrap me around your finger. I closed off when you told me that you thought your boyfriend should date me. When I felt your foot reach out for the man I liked. When I saw his whole body turn towards me, when his knee bounced off of mine and he looked into my eyes with annoyance and suggested we leave. Together. When my anxiety was through the roof and I was screaming internally.
I received a message with images of what I felt happen between him and I that day. The one when I decided to take a sober trip this time. To see what would transpire. The one where you grabbed the edge of my boat and your lips expanded while you spoke of what you would do to me. The day that you didn't tell me whether you were coming or not so I decided I don't like to play games, but somehow I was in the middle of several different boards. The day that I played some of the songs I had found that I thought you would like and you told me I was getting too serious with you. The one where I was left watching you row away wondering what you read into the songs I played and also hurt that you still ran from me. The day that I saw you watching her ass walk away and it was like a punch to the gut. The day that you passively aggressively explained you weren't coming with me because you didn't have a change of clothes at my house and I wondered why you brought it up. Did it mean you wanted an invite to leave clothes at my house? Or that you were glad that you never left anything behind? I didn't know we were being captured. I smiled and drew the image later. Your friend saw me sketching and he moved in his chair uncomfortably. Probably understanding what I simply could not fathom at the time; he did not want me. I enjoyed the time I had, but it was always borrowed time. I knew it for a long time. I didn't want to speak of it, so I pressed it down. Layer upon layer, jealousy, sadness, unrequited love. A shit sandwich, to be enjoyed when it was all over. Welcome to my delicacy.
"Whatever, they are always fighting. They'll probably break up again in a week." I rolled my eyes. Annoyed at how deeply they couldn't contain either of their craziness. I was grateful that we didn't have the same issue. There was pain and suffering in the relationship that we had, but we didn't fight. I shoved it all down. I felt rejected a lot of the time. But we never fought about it. I didn't hold it against you that you didn't care for me as deeply as I felt for you. It pained me and that caused me to be quiet sometimes, but I never put that on you.
"They are in love." He said it so plainly and I felt the silence. Not like us, then. I was in love. I wasn't allowed to speak of it. I wasn't allowed to express it. Unless it was just gently, shyly, putting a kiss on the edge of his face while he smiled, silently. Then I would back away and wait for him. Dying of silence. He never acknowledged it was there unless it was to say he didn't want it every few months. Just when I thought that my feelings were to be felt, not repressed. You would slam the door in my face. Delete your Facebook, then, ya brat.
I imagined the phone call. The one where he said it wasn't working. I imagined that I didn't ask any questions. That I didn't talk about my feelings. That I didn't say I cared more then I ever said I did. I imagined that I took a breath with dignity and perhaps admitted that I was upset and needed to go. Because, no one gets to see me like that. Unless I do care. You didn't deserve to hear my pain. Just as you didn't deserve all of the love I had for you. You didn't want it. Therefore, you did not deserve to rent it on my time. That makes you a special kind of asshole. A user of feelings. You knew how I felt. You felt it, too.
I felt overwhelmingly sad. Maybe I should just go home.
I blinked and I was still driving.
The sun began to set and my heart felt raw.
The next song came on and I turned it up. I belted out the lyrics.
I live in a house with a tin roof and
Every time it rains I can feel my brain it's
Moving back and forth, upside-down, east west
Feeling and remembering everything you do
Every time it rains I can feel my brain it's
Moving back and forth, upside-down, east west
Feeling and remembering everything you do
I was up last night tossing and turning
Couldn't get to sleep and I slept through the morning
Need to clear my head and get out of the city
All alone in the jungle you'll find me
Couldn't get to sleep and I slept through the morning
Need to clear my head and get out of the city
All alone in the jungle you'll find me
Close your eyes and hear my secret
I pulled into the driveway and I am startled. There isn't room for me here. I feel a sudden urge to back out and leave. It is completely ridiculous. I am looking for an excuse. A way out so I don't have to deal with the possibility that I am a complete idiot when it comes to love. I listened to the song playing on the speakers for a minute longer. I looked over at the daffodils and wondered, is what I want that much to ask for? Is it here? Am I on another path leading to anguish? I won't hope to know until I get there. I feel the need to move, so I do. I barely get in the door and you bring up how I parked. You read me like a book and I try to gloss over it and realize that you know what I was thinking without saying it and you caught me feeling sensitive about absolutely nothing. I hug you harder. You are different. I laugh and you ask me to explain and I can't. I need to write it down. I can't explain verbally without getting caught up in my emotions. I hear you answer my thoughts and you say I am copying your words. I can't do anything else but smile. I can't explain the warmth that is growing inside of me from being close to you. You somehow always had the manual for my model and I am happy to be acknowledged, finally. You read up on what to say and do. You say that you are just doing what feels right and I hug you harder. I lay my head on your shoulder and think I'm annoying you, but you are startled I am awake and paying attention to what you're doing. I smile as you explain very simple concepts wondering if you are just talking because you think I don't know or because you want to make sure I understand. It's important to you, so I pay attention. I may need time to process the information before I can formulate my words. You still ask, what? But, then you say something in a cartoon voice and I am at ease, no longer on the spot to figure out how I feel before I am ready to.You keep saying what I'm feeling. You laugh when I talk about how we bounce feelings back and forth. I realize I can't talk to you about it. I just need to write. About how I can feel a tingle go through me from the bottom of my sacrum, through my spine, and I feel like a ladybug drying it's wings. I'm spread out and full and vulnerable, I can't help it and I lay there open and accept the warmth. I feel your body reply, you know your touch effects me positively. You make a noise and its reassuring. You understand my response and you accept it. I feel entirely comfortable, which only makes me embarrassed when I realize it. You make me laugh with a silly voice and it only makes me sink deeper. I open up more and more. I am painstakingly awake, layers deep into very private parts of me, wondering what day is it? What time is it? I watch you rub your eyes and I wonder if you understand. I think it's so fucking adorable how you rub your eyes. Then I realize it is familiar, perhaps that is how I look. I hold my hand in the same way, tucking my thumb inward. I then realize your arm is flexing, as you use that power to smooth out a deep inner eye itch. I see you as an image, one I wish I could capture with a camera and settle for my own memory bank. How do you make itching your eye so hot? I'm deep in thought about how delicious you are, your lips are parted slightly. I can see your teeth and I wonder how teeth can be sexy, but yours are and I am not sure what to do because I just want to bite you. You blink a few times and ask me what and I just kiss your neck softly. I don't want to feel judged so I don't want to be naked. Curiosity over takes me instead. I wonder if you always feel exactly as I do when you say something about feeling shy about your body. I don't understand because I want to stare at you, you look like a statue. What I imagine any professional football player looks like without a shirt on. I want to jump you again and again. You ask me if I'm being crushed and I smile because not in the way that you think. I am comfortable because your skin feels like cream, I feel your desire to move and I don't want you to. You pause, feeling vulnerable, too. I can feel it and I rub your back, reassuringly. You are allowed to be. You tell me you are falling in <love> and I don't want you to say it because it changes things. Not in a bad way. It is a step more than I am ready for, but I can't help to feel it, too. So I close my eyes and smile. I'm sure you have flaws. I am good at pretending they don't exist. I truly am looking for them and I wonder what it means. I don't want for anything and that puts me at ease, too.
You get up and hand me a package, wrapped in a clear bag. It is something I would do. It's something I have done. For other people. I feel at home and I don't want to leave. I know I have to, so I do. I think about turning around for one more kiss, like I usually want watching you leave out my door. But, I pause, then keep going. I put my hand in my pocket and it feels so soft, worn satin; my fingers glide along the quilting. It's not as cold as I had originally anticipated. Or, I am just full of fire while I walk away.
Comments
Post a Comment