Recanting Wishes and Going Home

“I’m famous now” Drogo said when I told him he had many posts over on Our Lady of Lust and Grace.

“You were famous when I met you, now you are immortal.” I replied.

This is what writer’s do. If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

Not even if you want to.

I try to write about everyone I love and fuck with warmth, lust and grace. Emphasis on the latter two things. As childish as it is, this website also serves as a diary. Why would I want to remember the bad bits?

I lust often, love remains fairly elusive.

Truth be told, in retrospect, I thought I was in love a couple of times.
Still could be, I don’t have a hard line to God nor a functioning crystal ball.
Just a mantra that says ‘one more time’.

I didn’t even know then if I wanted to be loved, past experience dictated that there was pain in relationships, and the times I tried just backed up that theory.

 

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Me: Um, awkward question…can I write about you? I asked, already having done so.

(I hadn’t hit publish and I wouldn’t have without permission.)

Him: You can write about me if it’s nice.

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I wrote most of the above in June 2016. I had made a deal with God wherein I wanted something easy, stable and fun for the summer.

My wish was granted. Life was good.

I never finished this article. It was supposed to be about the Thai Fighter and he vanished shortly after.

Funny story really, I was lying in bed after we fucked and made a joke that I’d almost thrown pebbles at his window during a heat wave so I could sleepover in the AC.
His reply? “You could just text”.
He then pointed out that I hadn’t messaged him even once in the time we’d known each other.
I was fully content with being a booty call. In the literal definition. He’d call, I’d bring the booty.
I texted him, just to see, later that week.
We made plans, and I never heard from him again.

No hard feelings, pun intended.

I wish him well wherever he is.

Today my fortune cookie said “the best prediction of future is the past.”

Fuck.

I want a new cookie. Can that not be a thing please?

I remember making a wish way back when I was newly single. I wanted what I remembered as being the good parts of a long distance relationship. The time to know each other and miss each other. The luxury of being left to my own devices most of the time. The excitement of finally seeing them after a long absence. Making the most of your time together. Seemed pretty perfect.

It worked for me. Until it didn’t.

I kept getting my original wish. Poet was in LA, Jason was in Indiana, Illinois or Ohio depending. Hulk moved across the country, but that was after he disappeared into a deep chasm in his psyche where he could barely be reached. Giant and Gelfling were a thousand leagues away as far as emotional attachments went, I was kept at arm’s length and they had the longest of limbs. What I wanted and what they could provide me was light years apart.

I know if it happens again I will survive. I always do and I have some kind of selective amnesia like cocaine or childbirth that allows me to forget how much it hurts, and the nights spent awake and loathing myself and I’ll do it again. Except I don’t want to do either of those things again.
Nor do I want to start over with another person.

I don’t want to miss anyone anymore and for that I will gladly trade being missed.

Dear Gods that I pray to, and the ones I have not met yet;

I spend a lot of time, energy and thought on situations and people from my past (full stop)

I realized yesterday that without exception, remorse, angst or selfish intent, I wish them all well.

I want them to be loved and cared for in whatever way they desire, by whomever they desire.

And I ask humbly, with my soul on its knees. May I please have what I wish for them for myself as well.

I am done with that part of my life.

The girl I was needed it.

The girl I have become understands the difference between want and need.

I recant my wish for distance.

Airport kisses and booty calls don’t serve me anymore.

I want to go home and stay there.

Love,

Sarah