Can’t talk to you

All I’ve wanted to do was take care of you
Whether that was as a friend, a lover, or a Sir
That didn’t matter
Taking care of you makes me happy
Brings me joy
It’s not like it was one sided
I felt cared for too
Friends and a bit more
Real on your side do or die friends
I don’t understand what’s happening now
I know what’s happening, I just don’t understand it
That I can’t tell you these things hurts worse than feeling them
Maybe I’m the weirdo for accepting you into my heart with full knowledge that we may not be these things other than friends
But maybe that’s what love is

Choices unmade

I watched you walk away a hundred times in my mind. Steeling myself to the inevitable moment when you were gone for good. You said you were leaving. Moving on from this place of broken promises and going to a brighter future. And though I was sad, I understood. You were tied to another and what we have is but ephemeral kisses of the might have been. Had things been different. Had you chosen another Path, one we’d walk together.
But now, you’ve chosen to remain amidst reassurance that things will be different. But they won’t be. Liars lie. Emotional abusers abuse. That won’t change. Unless you’ve chosen paths I’ve advocated and you won’t because they are all dark alleys you wouldn’t travel, nor even loose me down.

So, you’ll stay, so close and ever distant. Because staying is easier than going. Because comfortable is easier than more and scary.

I’ve let you go. But my heart, foolish thing, only thinks that now at least, there may be a chance. But I know, it’s not to be. Much as I wish it otherwise. Love is bastard. Always complicated. Always just beyond reach.

What’s old is new again

I’ve stated before that I find sex comfortable. It’s easy, like breathing. At least now, at least for me. I’m good at many aspects of it, could use some improvement in others. Always be learning. But that’s not really my point. I say it to merely frame it because what I mean to say could be construed as lack of or being bad at sex.

It’s not the orgasm or the sex or all the varieties of kink I enjoy. Though kink is going to hold my attention longer. No, at the base level it’s being with someone who shares an outlook. Be they geek, book nerd, writer, poet, Sub to my Master, or musician. Its that sharing that draws me, and much as I enjoy the physical side of such relationships, it is the mental side that is the most interesting.

And sometimes on the physical side, I don’t need sex. If my partner needs it, then I will express myself in that language. But for me, sometimes I just want to hold them, to demonstrate that I have them. That they are safe, cared for, cherished. And yes loved, though that can take time to develop.

It’s odd, right? All the connection in the world without compatible sexual views and at most you have a friendship. All the sexual chemistry without the mental component and at best a fuck buddy. It takes the two aspects together to make it more. And the way I seem to want to express that is to hold them. To keep them safe. Its an odd realization that me keeping my partner safe is the way I choose as the most caring. Or perhaps not given aspects of my past.