I woke up in the morning yesterday and wrote:
You know I can feel you right?
When you are desperately trying to understand why nobody understands
and I cross your mind again
don’t you know that I can feel that pull from 2409 miles away?
I live for it.
It wouldn’t still exist had I stayed, you know this and so do I and yet it doesn’t matter really does it, this is the only life here that we get to live and regardless of what fantasies you try to hold in your mind at the same time, you know and I know, that no matter how many times you try to fight it or how many times I try to deny it, or how far away we are from one another in age and culture and space and time and meaning and values we are holding hands for the rest of the ride.
The goddess of fortune finds it amusing and I agree.
The list for me goes Michelangelo’s David and Kal El of Krypton, Roman Catholic depictions of Jesus, of course and then obviously you, the only non fictional character in the list and the most unreal of all of them.
You did what you said you would but you made a mistake when you thought that you could get me to do anything ever that I explicitly chose not to, I liked yelling at you and you know you loved being yelled at, by me. Sorry it doesn’t fit in with the lies you tell in the streets and the sheets, sorry self sabotage is the only way either of us can actually get off, sorry I like watching you change, as you discover new things, that can’t ever fill your insatiable desire for desire.
Writing about destroying you makes me happy. I’m sorry.
I miss you. I always will, the idea of you anyway, you’ll always be my girl, my muse, my favorite human to abuse even if I never get to talk to you face to face again, you stupid boy. You love to hate me and I love to pine for you and I will to the end…
Later the same day after a quick think, I wrote:
Now. You’ve written that.
That’s how you feel.
Now let’s dissect, shall we?
You don’t spend any more time with this man, haven’t in years. Even when you speak to each other, you both freak the fuck out and leave in more pain than you were before you started fantasizing about one another again. He’s a fucking narcissist, remember? Not the worst human in the world, and neither are you but you have Borderline traits still and always will. You feel intense yearning, especially for people you don’t have intimate relationships that are healthy with and you can’t freak him out and you love that. No matter how much you give to him its never too much, he can take it all because he is so desperately empty. Neither one of you have figured out how to know each other and help each other to be the kind of people you truly want to be. You only use one another, him for self esteem and you for love and it isn’t even as real as the love that you feel for yourself in this moment, the kind of love that reminds you not to give in to your most base impulses and fill up his leaky cup again. He hasn’t changed, and if he has, you haven’t enough to reach out. Let the yearning be the yearning and let it pass. Find something else to do. Keep writing it out but don’t say anything to him. It’s okay. You’re learning and trying to show some control and restraint and compassion for yourself, you are not broken, just wired for a long time to do what you are doing.
For now, keep trying to figure out why, and be patient and kind to yourself.
He isn’t David, or Kal El or Jesus.
He isn’t even the him you find yourself gasping for.
He’s just some guy and you’re just some girl, on the long road to finding herself and some peace.
Nothing lasts forever and this too shall pass. Be okay with letting it.
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