Saturday, 22 October 2011
My love,
I wish you were here. I’m tired of this being all I have because it’s never enough. I tied myself up - I’m only angry with myself for getting so excited to talk with you again. Despite what you may think it’s rather annoying for me to want you so much. Always and always some more. It’s a real bitch to go through life not needing or wanting anyone and then getting slapped with it full force - this is how you effect me. I am so completely independent, painfully so, I never ask for help - ever - people have to insist on giving me help.
Except with you - I’m different - stripped down to the smallest and largest degree, my quick slow seducer. Exposed, enraptured - blown away and tied up. Every time you go away and come back, I think that I’ve gotten to a point where I don’t need you as much, you’ve been gone - yes, I think about you every day, miss you every day but I’m also trying to convince myself that I’m all right without you. Because I was all right before you. I should be again, right?
Then you come back and like the house of fucking cards that it is, it just blows down with the slight breeze caused by your opening the door. (my door.)
That door that you opened up.
It's been over a year now since I wrote Sex ist ein Schlacht - Liebe ist Krieg - you knew of its existence when it was born. It was a writing assignment for an idiot I trusted at the time but it was written about my first love. Why is this relevant? - he was my first love. I didn't lose my virginity to him, you know the story behind that (one of the many reasons I love you so much) but it was also written for you. It is relevant because it opened the door between us. What I felt, admitting it, putting myself out there is part of what brought us together. You know that I don't believe in chance - coincidences do happen, but I believe they are rare, kinda like anti-miracles. (Sex is a battle - Love is war) opened the door between us - I know the distance has been great, daunting even. but it opened a year ago.
I didn't know - but I knew, from that first conversation that you were someone I could enjoy and fall in love with. I wasn't ready for that knowledge. When I ran away the first time, it didn't hurt that bad - I felt like I was simply waking up from a good dream, there was some regret that I couldn't quite remember what it was about, a little bit of longing. I didn’t let myself get attached. Because I am independent - I don’t need anyone…
Fall gives way to winter and spring gives way to summer. You wanted to catch an angel. You said a few words. It was too familiar to have been one of those anti-miracles. Who are you now? Still someone I could enjoy and love... I still doubt that I’m ready. you have a reason though, on why I should be. I learn that you always have words.
Why you do want me?
(There is no why, I just do.)
*bursts into tears*
(You're beautiful)
I let myself be held for a while in the darkness that we always create when we’re together. It’s more than just my forgetting that feeling of being loved. I’ve never felt quite like this before - it feels like I am wearing my heart on the outside of my body. (exposed) I make for the door, it's not shut, but I want through and it keeps moving away from me, just out of reach, just out of reach - always a step or two ahead of me. You're watching me chase the door that's not really moving at all. (wondering why I am so afraid of you) It’s ridiculous funny, but after a while, it gets sad. There's no way for me to get back through the door without.. hurt. I do it anyway… caught the edge, pulling myself through - not shutting it, but timidly looking through the crack at you. Over the course of a month, it's back and forth between you and the door, it keeps swinging open quite wide, then slamming shut again. (skittish) I’d whisper deep dark secrets to you - then I'd shut you out again. My only consistency being my unpredictability. It was miserable, wasn't it? How I agonized over everything… My over thinking... Jumping to the worst possible conclusion and applying it to you. (because I never thought I’d get - what i have with you) it was like the door really, I assumed you'd start moving, as soon as I got close enough to you. And I’m so independent, I can’t need you. So I'd just whisper my secrets and hide again.
You always came looking for me.
Until you didn’t.
she's still not ready for this, she's screaming it at me, without screaming it at me.
(let's be friends. it will be good for us.)
I hear this sound, inside of myself - it sounds a lot like something breaking. I'm back through the doorway now, the door is shut and double bolted.
You never said (don't forget about me) you didn't have to.
Because I won't. I can't. (When someone who matters comes in through our doors, we’re never really the same without them.) It’s as if I’ve been altered, shaped to fit you and when you’re gone, I’m hollowed out.
You did come round again, once I started thinking you wouldn't.
(Do you think, if we tried again - We could avoid hitting the rocks?)
You didn’t want to be “friends”, any more than I did.
I agonize.
I miss you and I love you.
But I am afraid. Because with you - I’m different - stripped down to the smallest and largest degree, my quick slow seducer. Exposed, enraptured - blown away and tied up.
I have to choose - which is more important to me. Fearing my own peril… or you - which if I think about it logically - (I am not a very logical person. I have more courage than sense.) - I would realize that you want nothing but the best for me. (this isn’t a romance at all, it is more than that) I love you, but it’s more than that. I want to cover you in kisses and worship your cock, and surrender to your every whim. (but it's more than that) Devotion has its price and you pay it willingly. (because I still hide behind my door and look out at you)
There is always that part of me - that I am with everything else - I’m so independent. I don’t need. Because this is who I am with you - because this is just who I am. I'm not so different from anyone else - it's not difficult to read such exposure - but it is difficult to respond to it... what do you say to this? nudity.
Overexposure - underexposure (you do leave me alone) biting comments (always from me) “I don’t need you” attitude. It’s just that, do you know how much it takes? To bare my self this way? It’s easy to do with you, but it’s difficult for me. Make sense? It's that unexplainable, unreachable - (emotions, that are beyond emotions - that don't have words) that go along with it. It's an itch, an ache, a clusterfuck. But this is my past - All this chaotic distance - measured in miles not between our hearts - because I know yours is so close to mine, my love. But it's not my past - because it always comes back - this doubt of myself. (because I never thought I’d get - what i have with you)
I took a surrogate. I let someone use me. (Not because you didn’t want to; even when I revolt - you want and love me. Even when you go away - you want and love me.) It’s because I don’t need you - (except I do, I’m at odds about it.) I didn’t come. I couldn’t. He thought I was crying because I was afraid of him, he choked me (repeatedly and to the point of passing out), he slapped me hard, he threatened me - but I wasn’t afraid of him. I didn’t say “pineapple” - because I wasn’t afraid of the situation. I was afraid of denying my own existence. Torn. I was afraid of losing what I hold most dear, my center, my sun. (You)
You’ve built this wanting up to unbearable levels and I can hear you say; bear it just a little longer. Except you wouldn't say that - you'd say; bear it until I tell you to stop. You're so definite. You’re the boss, you call the shots. You're the captain, my captain. It’s poetic, this desire and you are more real to me than anyone I have ever known, more real to me than the surrogate who was flesh and blood and heat right next to me. You are as of yet - something so ethereal as pixels of light - yet you are my reality. Why fuck with it? I am a stubborn cunt. I am at odds with myself, with my desires, with you.
I love you. You know why.
You make me come the hardest.
I’d die for you because you’d never ask me to.
Now. I blame myself for your latest disappearance - I’ve earned it. The surrogate was just that little bit too much… too much.
(A week in solitary confinement for you my lovely passionate dove… my darkest darling… because…)
"one day, three autumns".
三一
秋日
I’ve had it coming.
I miss you. And I love that loving you sometimes feels like a punishment… it’s a sweet punishment… like I get to come and come and come and then you fuck me and I come again. My torturer, my sadist, my lover, my avenging angel, my hero, my center, my sun. You are the very frightening definition of my all.
It takes courage to put myself out there, to open myself up, write all this, confess it - it’s real - it’s raw - it’s gorgeous. I do it so willingly for you. I want you to write this way about me. This obsession, this stupid love letter writing business - I want it to be you. I know you’re capable. You prove it to me every god damned day - every fucking conversation - it’s why I fucking need you now - because you DO write me love letters every time you open your mouth, every time you write anything, but they’re only for me - you don’t let people drool over your words for me - they are for me and me alone. I do feel special. I come so hard for you. Why do I doubt myself? Why do I feel like you’re the door that will move away, when all you do is open your arms, and hold me.
All the stories - all the writing assignments all the things that I write now, are FOR you. That’s such a beautiful difference. I’m not writing it for you about someone else, I’m writing it for you and about you.
Because I want it to be you, I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.
Yours,
me
