Jean-Paul Sartre

The wind was sweet and cold.
I was leaving my job and heading toward my car, thankful that the day wasn’t worrisome.
My phone was too hot because I’d left it in the car all day and just looking at it, you crossed my mind.
I wondered where you were and how nice it would have been for you to be at my apartment, on my sofa, with my remote, flipping channels, desperately bored, waiting to see me.
I laughed because that sounded so much like wishing for a puppy.
My mind only wants what it can’t have, until it can have it.
I got on the freeway, and then my phone cooled and the thoughts of you hadn’t ceased. They were rushing over my arms down, between my legs, in the corners of my mouth but I knew not texting you was the right path. Imagining you was better. Imagining couldn’t hurt us.
And less than a second later, you’d left a message. It had been 3 days. You needed me, you lied. You wanted to straddle me and suck my bottom lip, you lied. You wanted to get your way, regardless of what it cost me because getting your way is all you know. The thickness of the messages made the wind feel so heavy and sticky and warm. I rolled all of the windows down, a little frantic at the end of a not so worrisome day. We’d said goodbye 18 months ago but had I let you go? We’d said goodbye March of last year so how did you get back into my phone? We said goodbye 3 days ago and I thought of you today so, how did you know? How did you know that right before that message, you were the only thing cascading around my weary mind…
I cried about it.
You see as much as I want you, and I do, I know that whatever this is for you, it doesn’t rank higher than your amusement. And yeah, that’s totally cool, when you’re you but I’m supposed to be past that. I’m not pretty like you. There’s no reason for any of this.
I’m supposed to be over it. I’m not young like you. There’s no reason for any of this. I’m supposed to be moved way beyond- a long fucking time ago. I’m supposed to be enjoying my memories now, enjoying my fantasies of you now, not still trying to figure out if I’m human, if I’m hurting, if I’m stupid or if I’m in love.
I’m not in love; I’m obsessing and they are the opposite, that I know for sure. There’s no reason for any of this.
I’m not in love; or could I tell myself its best to tell you no?
I’m not in love; and if I was, would I even know?
After you sent me the photo of you in nothing ( That I asked for of course)
I knew then that I had everything of you that I could ever need.
My mind only wants what it can’t have, until it can have it.
Nothing was going to make you love me and playing along made me nothing more than weak and silly.
I am weak and silly. No one else would turn the opportunity to hold you, to kiss you, down in real life. Not as many times as I have. But I have to. I can’t actually have the things I want. My mind won’t let me.
My mind only wants what it can’t have, until it can have it.
So after I got my silly self together, I sent you a text that read my lies back:
Now, this is the best part, sweetheart
This is the mountain top and it’s mine…
right here, the most beautiful man in the entire world
awaits- anxious and needy, desperate and vulnerable…
This part is the magic… This part where I get to say no to Adonis.
Every woman should be so lucky once. Here goes, I’ve got goosebumps, I’m so thrilled. Truly.

 

 

No, monster.
Of course with all the narcissism he could muster, that fake fuck you facade that he flaunts, he replies:
Your loss.
I’m just his amusement and he’s mine. There’s no reason for any of this.
The right choices are painful for everyone, the hero and the villain; but especially us, villains. I am weak and silly. Whatever heart I have I just keep breaking.
And then, just when I needed it to, the wind quit fucking with me and let it rain, so I could cry once again, in peace.

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