Pillow Talk

I find solace in the dysfunctionality that is you and I. Somehow I find comfort in the chaos and beauty in the way we dance on the fine line avoiding land mines on the line between romanticism and platonic interaction. I keep it coy and you keep it cool but we both keep it known between each other, “hey, I like you”. As I lay here on the edge of the bed as if it were a tight rope and you lay in the center like a king claiming his space, I’v somehow slipped through the crack between possessive and generous into complacent because, well, I missed you. And apparently if giving you my bed is what it takes to get you back at a tangible proximity then damn it, why not. But don’t think I didn’t think to lay on you, or long for your arm to draw me close; to draw me near. But those days are no longer here and now, all I can do is accidentally, but not sorry I did, brush my hand up against your ass as I work to rotate without breaking this circus act of being on the edge of this twin size bed. I’ve been banished in my own house, my own room, my own bed…and I let you. Because even though physically at the moment I’m my own personal Circ de Sole, mentally I seem to be quite okay as we lay here and play with dysfunctionality that is you and I. Until the times come to say goodbye and then I hate myself and I might want to cry but I won’t let myself go there, oh no. I’ll close the door, walk to the car, drive to work and sell someone a shoe with a smile on my face as I inwardly burn to distract my heart from missing him, but I’m forever missing him. 

A Whimsical Romance

As intricate of a rhythm made by the overlapping beats between both of our hearts, there seemed to be just enough space left between the notes and ebb & flow for what was potential to escape our grasps. I saw you through the eyes of a man with budding, strong emotion only to die by a sudden winter of reality. Not even emotions can escape mortality.

You’re too hurt to love again and I’m too fragile to stay hoovered in emotional limbo while I wait for your heart to grow back the part your last partner took from you. Know that I am not upset with the circumstance just disappointed and maybe a little hurt, too. I keep telling myself that it’s okay to feel this way, but it doesn’t make it any easier to feel the small sting the truth gave me, without hesitation.

Though I was warned from the beginning, a small part of my psyche hoped that maybe your healing process would speed up if you had someone new to show affection toward.

How cute.

I should have known better than to think with emotion as the guiding force; they always seem to act as a veil to what’s really going on right before my eyes. As I sit here on this bed, avoiding this paper I need to write by writing this small account for my current emotional state, I think of you and how empty and large this twin size bed feels some nights. A part of me wonders if I had never initiated that conversation, would you be here right now? Is there anyway for me to take back what was said that day somehow? Can I have a moment of immaturity and beat myself up for taking what was such a simple pleasure away but still know that it was for the best of my emotional state?

Your baggage is yours to carry and I thank you for not wanting to unload that on me. A year ago I would have taken it, all of it just to keep you near. Sometimes I could swear that the old me hasn’t left, that he’s the one sitting right here. The one who wasn’t responsible, the one who didn’t put himself first; the one who forgot about himself and in doing so, ended up getting hurt over and over again. I still feel a bit sad and I, at times, hate this boundary. I see it like the Berlin wall and I just want it gone, I want to break it down, watch it fall. But it’s there for a reason and who knows, maybe even for a season. But I can’t count on that, for my sake. That dream is something my being can’t take. Because when and if that’s not the case, I’ll be more than disappointed; those sort of let downs tend to devastate.

My Coin Purse Is Running Dry (I Think I’m Insane).

With little to no coins left in my purse I keep pushing them through that slot machine one by one hoping for a different result. Call me crazy if you must, but if you do, I blame the machine. It gives me something different every so often when I pull the lever. I guess it helps that I say a small prayer before I say goodbye to my silver coin for forever in hopes of getting what I paid for. With each subtracted coin, they rise in value until a small bit of luck is thrown my way…what can I say, every time I think to myself that God’s ignoring my prayer…he sends me more coins. I get more coins in all kind of ways. People give them to me, I find some on the ground. And if I’m lucky, I’ll hit the jackpot…but that all depends on the temperament of the machine, I guess. For the most part, when I slide that nickle through the money slot, I’m aware of what I’m getting myself into…I know that there’s a chance that I might not win but…hey, a girls gotta try, right? I mean, what’s life without any risks? At this point in my life, this is my version of living on the edge; giving chances and maybe or maybe not getting what I want. I haven’t quite figured out how to ensure a victory every time but…I think I’m leading up to it, you know? I think I’m pretty close. I’ve been playing this slot for almost two years now and I figure I’m bound to get something figured out sooner or later…