2 in the Front, 2 In the Back

The more and extra are nice of course, who could complain
but if this 2602nd Tuesday was my last one, I wouldn’t even be mad- couldn’t be, obviously, but I’m writing it down now that I would not be distraught
having thought
there was something that I had missed out on or hadn’t done
that I had really wanted to do
whilst I was here
as the final thing just happened
and I know what it feels to be content
believe me- I could make a list, lurid and long describing in details
things that in my mind I saw and eventually in real life, got to do
and I’m sure there are things out there that I can’t foresee that I might want to do if I carry on
I’m just saying if I had to be gone, I’d be good.
Love is so fucking dumb. Its like credit- you don’t really need it for anything, but once you’re in the system, then they own you, your time, your energy, your thoughts and mind- even if you get back down to owing nothing to anyone, they have a history of you and predictive behavior to rely on and essentially, you’re in it, until the end of you. In my experience love is no different, you can’t really stop it, you can’t really start it either, just opt in. As soon as you do you’re chasing a high until, it becomes familiar background noise, a hum of electricity you only notice when it’s off- a way of life, not a gift anymore.
I told the truth about something to the last man I said I would ever love and I didn’t think I could, until I did. When you spend your life worried about being rejected, you don’t actually tell the truth, that way nobody can ever really say they don’t love you, they don’t know you, never even met you…
but over time, and when you work at it, and you try to heal your little wounds, you start remembering that whether there is ever anybody else with you or not is the more and extras.
The more and extras, are very nice, I dare say but not essentials. My wounds are healing.
My existence isn’t reliant upon the commitment or consideration or permission or approval, anymore, of anyone else but me. Finally being confident enough to know that, and to understand that any rejection of me isn’t the end of anything other than something that clearly wasn’t for me, if you’re going to be in the credit system, why pay for anything other than authentic, genuine, fresh love? My wounds, they continue to heal.
And, if I love me, I can be honest. And I was. And he said in response, you’ve grown a lot. Then I told a gross joke because, ew, I have not. Healing thought.
They are healing now.
Those old wounds.
That was enough. Something I never knew exactly how to describe wanting but finally got.
My bucket list is done so if it’s just mores and extras from now on, so be it.
But my story is insane so far and pretty fucking fly actually.
If it was a wrap, it would be a classic.
Complaint-free.
Dumb ass love, no?
Yeah, I’m good.