This is gonna be a twofer and I have no idea how to transition, but transition I will.
Okay so.
Got it.
2 quotes of the night.
- I feel you like a fever breaks.
(We will get back to that.)
2. Me: we aren’t together anymore but I am not gonna go running around fucking his friends.
Him: I respect that. Plus I am pretty scared of him to be honest.
Me: everyone is.
There it is.
Let it be the finale of seem.
Final Boss was the actual finale. I can’t be with anyone here anymore even if I wanted to. And I don’t.
I got epiphanies to the left of me, omens to the right. Here I am stuck in the middle of the ocean without you.
I read something today, read it before.
He doesn’t love you
He just loves the feeling
of being loved by you.
Arch Hades
We call that a nutshell ‘round here.
Fuuuuuuuck me runnin’, that’s astute.
I have spent YEARS perfecting how I love. It’s beautiful. Like a stained-glass window. Colorful pieces of what I have gleaned gleaming when the light hits just right. Held together with anchors and veins of leaden what not to do. Weights and lightness in perfect mosaic.
I messaged Giant the other day. I needed to know what it felt like to be loved by me.
He said “Like a warm, reassuring figure behind me.”
Good answer babe.
I can tell you the moment it stopped. When romantic love for Final Boss just became phipila. Concerned but detached. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him, but I do not want to participate in the good.
He called after weeks of radio silence and asked me “who do I gotta hit”. No hello, no how are you. Just concern and action.
It was 4am, I had been drinking. I couldn’t wrap my head around what he was saying or why he was saying it.
Turns out
he had read a Facebook post about me having a stalker. That doesn’t happen here,
I posted it more out of shock than for attention. I said I was fine. The creep had
flown away and was in Ontario somewhere as far as I knew. I wasn’t worried. He said
he would fly to Toronto. My first thought was ‘awwwww’. Second was, why did you
leave me here if you give a shit.
(this was internal dialogue. I would never cuss him to his face.)
He closed the conversation by saying ‘take care of that pussy for me’.
And then promptly hung up.
There is a
god. I didn’t get a chance to drunkenly blurt the truth.
That’s a sober conversation. He deserves that much.
I tossed and turned during the night. None of that sat well with me.
Not yours anymore. Not yours. Not yours.
things
I held sacred that I dropped
Audioslave
I have been
dropped a lot. I land on my feet.
If you wanted me and my precious pussy safe you would be here making sure we
are. If you were sooooo worried about me and my pussy, well…you had an all
access pass and you got on a plane and flew away. Discounting the 4.5 months he
was unable. And that’s another thing. Why I have I heard from him less now than
I did then when he was in prison.
I know all the answers. I don’t need to go over them again. The end result is the same.
And I let go.
My fortune cookie today said “to love is to forgive”.
Already done.
Nothing to forgive. It was fun, then it was awful, then it was fun, then it was over.
I already
know the why of him. I had to stay a little longer and he kept me tethered.
And he’s really good fuckboy repellent, so there’s that then.
He is still keeping me safe in absentia, I am grateful for that.
So that takes care of quote number 2.
I must have tricked myself at some point into thinking I couldn’t have physical and metaphysical safety together in one person.
I suppose if I had never experienced such a thing, how would I know?
I forgot the cardinal rule. If I believe it I will see it.
Funny story.
And probably our bumpy transition paragraph.
I once wrote letters to Final Boss in prison. He didn’t read them. He had no idea what I wanted or how I felt when he got out. I once wrote him a paragraph summation. He didn’t read that either. At least he admitted it. It explains a lot.
I’m not a reader, he said.
I am a fucking writer.
What was I thinking?
I suppose there is some safety there for me. It’s scary having my guts spilled out and on display. The world, as a collective whole, loves to judge women like me. I think I come off rather clumsy and slutty most of the time. I regret using certain nicknames and phrases early on. But I have to forgive myself for not knowing before I knew.
How could I?
I feel you like a fever breaks.
Same baby.
Like waking up from a dream of prolonged mediocrity and stumbling into paradise.
Paradise is in your eyes. I miss them.
Who even talks like this?
I do.
Wolf does.
He is a Viking with a vocabulary.
Came across the ocean to ravage and pillage my body, and did that oh so well. Then laid in bed with me and spoke of quantum entanglements and deciphering messages from the ether.
Never have I ever been able to speak or fuck so freely.
I suppose if I exist, there must be others.
I always told the young ones they would find someone like me, eventually.
Said it was a blessing that they knew what was possible. Don’t settle my darlings.
I didn’t think about me, or what I was missing.
Until I met the culmination of every Pornhub search, every prayer I sent to the gods, everything I am but couldn’t find in another, all wrapped up in a beautiful package. Labeled very clearly with wolves and words, so I couldn’t mistake he was for me.
A man walks into a bar.
And suddenly, I am free.
