When you don’t have any direction- you are in danger.
Danger of being pulled and stretched in ways you never thought possible.
Sit with me. Talk with me.
I’m a nice man.
I will never hurt you.
Trust in me.
I want to lose myself in loving you. Let your narrative become my own.
Let us blend together so that neither of us will know where you stop and I begin.
I has a feel.
For someone who isn’t a married man.
For someone perfectly available.
For someone who isn’t my ruined ex.
For someone who isn’t a taker.
It’s a lay on the couch and watch some netflix kind of feel. An argue over what to eat kind of feel. A comfortable kind of feel.
It’s a warm fuzzy feel and I don’t like it at all.
I sometimes worry I will end up like him.
Begging for thread.
A complete break from reality.
He doesn’t seem to mind.
I suppose that’s the beauty of it. Once you’ve given yourself entirely over to the mania you don’t feel conflict any longer. Lights out. Nobody’s home.
I sometimes wonder if as a society we are doing it wrong. The “love” narrative is everywhere. Girl meets boy. Girl dates boy. Girl marries boy. Girl pops out children. Girl grows old with boy. Girl dies. H A P P I L Y E V E R A F T E R.
Is that why we are all so miserable? Because we have bought into this fairytale hook line and sinker? When the reality is relationships are messy. People stay together out of fear of being alone. And we martyr ourselves by thinking we are pushing through in the name of love.
People do terrible things to one another when they are in love.
It sometimes bothers me that not a whole lot of people in the world are attempting to live an enlightened life. They accept things as they are with no need or want to understand/change them. Perhaps they are the true masters of the safety bubble. After all- how can you be unsafe when you are blissfully ignorant?
Must be nice.
I want to tell them all to wake up. To help them spot the lies they tell, the lies others tell. To help them understand why they do this or that. Or to help them understand another’s motivations. I want to see them grow. So that I can grow too.
But people aren’t interested in growing.
Who am I to be now?
It’s been over two months since I’ve asked that question. I’ve assumed multiple definitions in this time frame. None of them seem to fit. Who the fuck am I to be?
I think it’s time that we all own up to our shit. Our insecurities. Why have we taught ourselves that being S T R O N G is the proper path? P E R F E C T I O N the ideal goal? Are we so afraid of being hurt that we refuse to let anyone in completely? I hate this. I think its bull shit.
I want to transcend.
No more fucking mask.
Two weeks. I have two weeks to debate, mull, imagine, curse, anticipate, dread, long for, and run from our eventual collision.
I was once so excited at the prospect of sitting across from you at some table. Sipping a cocktail. Enjoying your presence.
And now I am fucking terrified.
You are not what you seem. And my brain knows it. It’s screaming at me to run. Put as much distance between the two of us as possible. And then my brain takes another turn and decides this all sounds incredibly romantic. An imaginary pull… It belongs on a movie screen.
But it really doesn’t.
I had another weekly meeting with my Mr. Exec. We once again followed our same pattern. I am beginning to be able to anticipate our movements.
The sex was fantastic, as it usually is. I do wish he would be more commanding. Instead, he seems hell bent on making love. I even attempted some bratty antics. He ordered me to lay down. I refused. He ordered again. I refused again. At this point I would expect him to exact some punishment or perhaps to pin me down. He just laughed. Pity.
I was the one who had some trouble today with the eye contact during our sexual exploits. I kept breaking it with a kiss. Something about it was too intense. Too familiar. Too dangerous. I couldn’t handle it. This is very odd for me. But I shall take the new experience in stride.