There is really close to no point in me sharing all that I do on here. It’s not as open as it sounds. Raw, only slightly, but I’m shielding a lot. Like how promiscuous I am when I drink. Affection turned to guilt when I wake up in the morning.
I think I’m the one breaking hearts at this point. How the one person I actually care to share parts of me with doesn’t even answer the phone when I call. Doesn’t even reply to a text in the middle of a shallow as fuck conversation.
How I make bonds with people quickly and easily because I’m fiery as fuck and I don’t allow people to be shielded around me, yet I shield everything. I swear it’s seeming more and more like a ruse.
I just finished this book about a guy who used to get off on hurting women. He’d make them fall in love with him just so he could look into their eyes and see their heart break when he felt the moment was right. I don’t see myself doing this but I also don’t think I’m far off. Like let me open up for a day, let you in for the night, let you see depths that you think are the deepest of the deep but I’m sorry to say we have only scratched the surface and that’s as far as you’ll get.
I’ve realized most recently that I am relatively easy to love. Easy to fall for. There’s always something new to learn, to discover, to figure out. Who doesn’t like a little puzzle? A little maze? See I’m not a 24-piece puzzle. You can’t put me together in an hour. See I’m easy to love but hard to keep around. I’m fleeting- more so than I have ever been and as much as I truly love this ability to do so, I hate to think I cause pain on a soul that holds only trust in me. A connection felt but only on one side. I’ve cut myself off from emotional attachment because I can not handle being left. I can’t handle abandonment- not even the idea of it. So I’ll be the one to leave. In secret and silence. Ghosting.
I’m not proud of my actions but I am proud of my progress. My awareness that is clouded but forming roots, forming weight. I have what is needed within myself. And you know I used to just write all this shit in my journal but now I post it on here. To help me feel less crazy? Or maybe to make me feel more crazy, I don’t fucking know anymore. I don’t know but I do know.
I guess that makes me the shallow one. To only let someone in toes deep but drown them in words so they think they’re swimming in me but really only being swarmed by distraction. Little tastes of what could be but I won’t allow to transpire. Wake up in the morning a different person because responsibilities are real and if the world ended last night it would be okay because I wouldn’t have to think about it again.
Toxic. I’m the one.
So here we are the morning after and it doesn’t matter who you are, I want you to leave. Fake sleep until you start to stir then it’s all fast movements and no eye contact. Gotta go, gotta go. See nothing happened that night but here you are in my bed and I need you to leave. See something could have happened last night but the gods blessed with me of two seconds of clarity in my drunken stupor and I decided to sleep than do anything else. Thank you lord, I don’t need that shit hanging over me like I give a fuck. (Spoiler alert: I do. More than you all could know.)
I’m an affection junkie. I want to be held but not touched, loved but not known. You can’t know me. You don’t get to touch. You can’t win this way, but I’ll tell you neither can I.
And to the one I actually want to stay. To stick around. To know me and love me and touch me and hold me. Maybe you’re just protecting yourself like I’m protecting mine. Maybe you just want my body because it’s more consistent than my mind. But my heart has always been yours. Excuses, excuses. We always make them for the ones we love or the ones we hate. We always make them. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. There’s one man who will always be welcome in my bed. In my mind and heart and soul. He won’t always find himself there and I’ll probably build some obstacle to get around but the welcome sign remains. Till next time. When we find each other again or we find something else worth fighting for.
Chill front on 35mm film