Johannesburg

 We look for someone who is just like us when we should be looking for someone that has something that we don't. Something we can give each other. Something different. If we are the same then we are just dating ourselves. There's no challenge. It's safe... But what is it beyond that? There's no expansion. There's no way to meet someone in the middle if you are the same half. Walking around like there's always something missing. It's not surprising that a lot of couples have one person who likes to stay in and one that likes to go out. One person can be helping the introvert come out and play. One person can help the extrovert stay in one place. So why are so many couples unhappy about it? Because one will compromise. Lose their spark. Their determination to be outside in the open world. Exploring the possibilities. One will be out constantly with their extroverted counterpart, a sulky wallflower, trying to keep what little is left in their bucket to themselves. 

It doesn't matter. I don't know where my mind has gone lately. I can't help myself. I tried. I do try. I fall in love with strangers. People I will never know. I stretch myself thin with the possibilities that don't exist. I live in my own world and the outside world keeps flowing. I forget where the storm ends and the calm begins. I think for some reason that a man I burn for holds a flame for me and its just dreams. Wishful thinking. It doesn't ever really matter. Where do all these feelings even come from? Why can't I just be? Why can't I just be. 

Because I'm full of dreams. 

I'm full of duality. 

I feel for myself. On both ends. The side that needs order and structure. That can do things repetitively and happily. Just fulfill my natural desires while maintaining health and wellness. Then there's the other side. The one that is spontaneous and witty. That's the side where I wear my heart on my sleeve and put a tissue over it and think I'm so inconspicuous. Look at me functioning. I'm fine. Just in constant torture of being myself and being okay with being myself. With tripping over my own feet and being acutely aware of my beet red face and I put my chin up to the sky and I keep going. I let it just be that way. Because how else can I be but me? So here I am. Being me. 

Did you ever have someone from your past reach out to you? What about when you didn't want them to? What about when you never respond? What about the last interaction was you being clear you were blocking them? What about when you never respond to their attempts and you keep blocking them every which way they try to talk to you? What about after two years? What about after they decide to send intimate emails about conversations you had years ago as if they can just pick up where it was left off? And you are meant to...? What? Be impressed? Or inspired? Or...? What? Did you ever block someone and then have them open up a different app, find you, then send you another message just to be sure that you know that they think it was shitty that you stopped them from continuing to be abusive in their language and messages? Did you ever find out that someone cheated on you? What about when you ended it because you didn't want anything more? What about when you felt like the decision was killing you because you didn't want to lead someone on when it was never going to mean anything? What about how it started negatively effecting your life to have that conversation with someone? To say that you didn't love them and you weren't ever going to? And then you find out a few months later that they actually cheated on you for at least a few months? But who's to say it wasn't longer? Or more? And did you ever just feel bad for the woman he was two timing and less for yourself because you didn't care about him and you just needed a cum but it was too much weighing on your conscience to keep allowing it to go on knowing that your heart wasn't in it? And then you imagined that some other woman WAS investing her heart into this bozo? And then you felt OBLIGATED to let her know he was a dirtbag and she deserved better? And then you sent her a message and she asked for fucking proof because he was trying to manipulate her- clearly- into thinking that you were mad at him for (Well you never got to know the reason)...? Did you ever send him a message with a screen shot of when they got together and another of when you said you didn't want to keep seeing him and there's an obvious overlap? Did you ever have that happen to you? And then TWO MONTHS LATER.... he apologizes. He sends a message and apologizes and says he's been thinking about it and it's been weighing on him and he needed to apologize? Because.... that all seems like shit that could happen to anyone. But it happens to me. 

Did you ever actually respond to someone like that? No? Me. Fucking. Neither. But that doesn't stop people from doing it to me. 

So I escape. Some people smoke a lot of weed. Or drink a lot. I get it. I understand it. I truly do. Just as a regular thing to just live off of. Just one slump to the next. Escaping. I day dream. I write stories. I make up scenarios. I replay scenes of my day. I change the script. I write an entire movie. I dream and I write and I hope and I need and want and then I remember I make it all up. I know it while I do it. I am good at separating the dreams from the reality. I understand when I'm back in reality, you aren't there. You just aren't. I wish I could conjure up a situation where we can meet again. Where it makes sense. Where I can be a part of your life. You a part of mine. 

It's just not real. It's an escape. I don't want to deal with the bullshit. The baggage that men try to put on me. I don't want it. They think I can't see through it. Through the word salad. I see it. I may hop from subject to subject, but I'm not oblivious to distracting games. It's actually funny when I try to have conversations with people I actually want to talk to. I realize that I'm a mess. That my brain is wired so horribly different than most people. That I make sense to me. But not to anyone else. Not to you. You see what you want to see. But it's not me. I spent months ignoring the feelings and wasting time. I should have just walked up and asked you out. I kept trying to find ways for it to happen. It didn't. And if you wanted it to... well then it would have happened. 

If you are confused by someones feelings towards you, then they don't have any feelings for you. 

It's harder when you know. When you can feel it. You catch them looking at you. Catch them glancing at you. It's harder when you can't stop playing it in your head. The memory of babbling. Unsnapping the fasteners. Glancing back up to find their eyes on your chest. Watching their eyes going up and down as you are opening your coat. Smirking under your mask and watching their eyebrow shoot up. That man killed me. That look killed me. I want more of it. More of him. 

It doesn't matter. None of it does. It doesn't matter that I caught him looking at me and he ran into the hood. It doesn't matter that his voice was noticeably softer around me. It doesn't matter that I couldn't look at him when he wasn't wearing a mask. He was too fucking handsome. I suppose he still is. I wouldn't know. I don't know anymore. Why can't I let it go? I should. I need to move on. It's stupid. This heart is stupid. Everything is stupid. I can't escape the feelings that I want to escape when my daydreaming turns into inception. 

He would be the waning crescent to my waxing gibbous. He just fucking would. Wouldn't he. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. It's frustrating. I WANT him to reach out. I want him to have nothing to say to me and send it anyway. I want that. I don't want all the fucking messages I get that I don't respond to. Sorry but. That's just how I will operate. I used to respond to people who I didn't want in my life and now I just don't. So, if I don't respond... I won't. I don't want you in my life. Try a few times. Sure. If I don't respond. Let me go. I can only hope for the same. End my fucking misery.