I got 2 days and 1 night of perfection. It’s more than most people get.
It was to aid a friend and I feel a bit guilty about how it made me feel. Taking care of her. Making sure she followed her tasks. Hearing that in that moment what she felt was joy. It was utter perfection.
But what was so transcendent for me, was, perhaps, too close to a reminder of what she’d lost. Two days and a night. I was the happiest most fulfilled version of myself. I made plans. Crazy plans. Plans to uproot my whole life.
But by Monday it was over. She went back to her healing, her pain. And I was reminded of mine.
2 days and 1 night. It’s more than most people get. And its marked me forever
If I could save her, of course I would, of course. It’s easy to say, discounting all the years past that point. Discounting all the changes I made to be a better person.
Of course, I’d go, I’d be there and that would make the difference.
If I could save her I would.
If I could make a different choice
And accept that it means that the man I am now would be annihilated.
All of those experiences that turned me, minute by minute would be destroyed as well.
Of course, I’d save her. Of course.
Knowing how it happened, knowing it all.
Of course, I’d save her. Of course.
And accept that saving her, means dying in her stead. I’d still be breathing but the man I am now would never be. The love I’ve experienced, the people I’ve met, the family I’ve connected with, the goddess of my heart. It all gets snuffed out, turned on the wheel of a choice.
Of course I’d save her
1. Having someone to talk to who is genuinely interested in what I think.
2. Listening to their thoughts, ideas, and opinions. I live so much in my head that hearing a different thought process is interesting and sexy.
3. Kissing. I could say sex, but I miss kissing more.
4. Reading something or hearing something and reminding myself to share that with them.
5. Waking up with them snuggled up against me and remembering that we chose each other.
There is a truth to be had in silence
In her silence, in mine
It’s easier to be silent
To let time slip by in the hope that it will solve things
One way or another
But time is a funny thing
It doesn’t yield solutions
It only brings opportunity and choices
I’ll always choose you
And so, I am not silent
And I say that I choose you
And I wait, with trepidation, for you to end silence
Fearing that you won’t
Fearing that you will
I still love every one I have ever loved. I now say I care instead of I love. But this is just a safeguard. A check to maintain the status qo. It is merely that the pain of those lost to me is piled on top of the mountain of pain that I live upon. And each new pain begins to spin out, to cover what came before, in a thin layer that is endurable. How can I expect to find someone who will love me if I cannot let go my pain. Am I getting better or merely becoming better at deluding myself. So many nights and days I don’t want sex, I just want to be held. But, I’ll term it as sex because that is seemingly more socially acceptable than to admit to this weakness. This need for connection.
That is a male problem. We’re not allowed to seem weak. I can get away with crying in public, with being emotional and many other things because I am seen as strong. Unassailable, but vulnerability, that is too far. And truthfully I don’t care what others think, but social mores make things difficult. This is all cold detachment. An effort to bring myself back under control as, as I write this, tears stream down my face. So overcome am I that tears are my only outlet. I want my Morgan back. I want to hold Eric one last time. I want what cannot be.
I would give voice to other than lust but find, in these haunting seconds twixt witching moon and the long dark, find my heart empty. Or not empty, but rather ravaged by flames that course through, burning out all thought but you. You, spread inviting on my crimson bed. You, legs pressed around me, back against the wall. You, pale ass tantalizing and taunting. You, riding, your eyes black with desire. My face buried in you, your hands in my hair. Your moans, your shudders. Your pleasure bound at the end of my tongue.
But you are far away from me, We are long lost to each other and I am alone. Sitting in the pale light of approaching dawn.
My Morgan. My Morrigan.
It’s odd what a honest conversation will get you when the blinders have been taken off. I tend to blame myself for awkwardness in a relationship. It is something I am working on. I apologize if I think I have offended and check with the other person. If they are being as open and honest as I’m trying to be then it’s good. If not, then it’s not great. So, sometimes game playing seems to me like a product of my making a misstep. That is how I interpret it. If the other person does not say that it wasn’t a misstep and lay it out for me, I’ll never really understand it. But once the blinders are off, I will see it immediately. The only reason I didn’t see it before was because it was my relationship. In others I can see the dance, each step that it takes, and how it will play out. If I’m paying attention. But in my relationships I can be blind. I try to follow my heart. Which is a good thing, but it can lead me down blind alleys.
I’ll never stop loving the person. I’ve never stopped loving any of those that I fell for. It’s just my nature. But it won’t rule me. The passion gets replaced by reason and a feeling of fondness. I will never be as blind with them again. Which is a shame. I rather like myself in full romantic fervor. And can we be friends? Maybe but not right away. Hit me up in six months or so. You can start at the associate level like everyone else.