Sometimes when I talk to you on the phone I feel like I have a gun in my mouth which I do not have my hand or fingers directly, or even remotely, close to the trigger. My voice trembles and I clear my throat to postulate the thoughts that want to come spilling from the dark, damp cave that holds them captive.
I’d like to tell you how beautiful I still think you are.
Physically, mentally, emotionally.
I’d like to tell you how terribly I’ve missed you for the past, what…. four years?
Apologies. I’ll bite my tongue again.
No one likes it when my heart beats.
Everyone just wants to fuck and have a good time. I’m down for the good time, but I’m just not interested in the surface deep act of getting down and dirty. Wasting time to show your affection for someone else, when all you’re really doing is engaging in some self satisfying physical narcissism. Dealing more damage to yourself and others than good. Like Godzilla taking on some giant monster in the streets of Japan. It was great to you beat them back and all, giant scary lizard…. But what about our city? What happens when you’ve cum, or they have. Up and out, snagging pieces of sweat stained clothes and tossing them over their now warped and less attractive bodies as they slither from your bed, to the bathroom, and out the door.
Maybe I’ll see you again. This was fun. Call me.
Please don’t. Don’t slither up to me, make small talk, eye contact, conversation.
I’m enjoying my beer, the company of people who matter.
I’m looking for someone who matters.
I just want to spend my time in the company of people who matter. The company of people I matter to.
But I hardly have friends anymore. I left most of them behind, or let them speed off. Like lovers to the bathroom and front door. I’ve walked away from abusive relationships I could no longer help to shelter from. I’ve walked away from people who took advantage of me. I’ve learned my lessons the hard way and had a hell of a good time while I was at it.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m lonely.
It doesn’t change the fact that I still think of you all the time.
It doesn’t change the fact that I still feel guilty.
It doesn’t change the fact that you left without me and it wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own.
It doesn’t change the fact that I still love you.
And care. And miss you.
And, and, and.
It doesn’t change the facts.