Reading back, I'm still the same girl I've always been. I say the same hopeful words, I believe the same hopeful beliefs, I laugh the same hopeful laugh. Bad things always happen. Good things always outweigh the bad. I still need that wake up call, I still am stubborn. I still love freely. I still secretly long for people I never want to have. I still "date" and then end it because I don't want to be held down. I still wish I was dating someone when I end the last fling. I don't think many of these things will change much any time soon.
I will always have the same foundation.
I will always have a similar structure to my architectures.
I will always build in sharpie and write with concrete.
I guess part of it is that I bore easily. New is more fun. I can't keep him. He leaves in two days. I just like to be around him. I don't even want to do much more than kiss him. But I'm guilty of not feeling guilty for wanting to say "I don't want you to leave because I want to laugh with you. I want you to smile at me across the room some more. I want you to talk to me like I'm the only one in the bar some more. I want you to be here some more. I want you to hold me." Maybe it's his British charm. Maybe it's his warm smile, his soft hand, his kind voice. Maybe it's the way that he doesn't wait for me to demand, he just knows. He asks about me rather than just talk about himself, but I can't help but turning it back to him. He fights me to pay for my beer and I just buy him another before he can say no.
I don't want him to leave. I think the other is looking forward to having my full attention back. Sadly, I don't know if he will.
Tonight will be magical once I can pry myself away from sleep. I'm sick and I want to not do anything but this just isn't the night for me dicking out on anyone. I'm glad the boy won't be here because I think making out would just gross me the fuck out right now. I like that when my phone rings I either hear Poison, Motley Crue, Toto, or Iron Maiden. It's pretty much really good.
Now I need to listen to a little Gorgoroth and pass out before party time.
My phone is going to blow up. My hands are going to fall off without his here to hold them. My eyes are darting, my heart is beating and I am a wreck. It feels amazing. I know that we haven't discussed what will become of our years long friendship, if we're even going to dive into anything. All I know is when we're together, the rest seems useless. When we're in bed, giggling and snuggling, talking and kissing and nibbling and giggling some more, we're not what we ever thought we'd be and I'm beginning to feel a little animosity for us never giving this a try. Years lost I could have been holding him. At night, my small hands grip his biceps and hips and his big hands pull my close enough to feel every inch of his crazy, sexy body. I don't know what'll happen. I just know that when the lights are off, he's mine and that's all that matters.
It didn't work out last time and I know it. We tore each other to shreds and didn't bother to ask if we needed help picking up the bloody pieces. I spent more time crying over you than sleeping with you. I spent more time dealing with the heart ache than I actually spent being with you at all... And in some ways, I still deal with it. Three years pass, I'm safe, right? We see each other, I stay clear. You talk to me, I try to be civil. Don't show him you're quivering, don't let him look you in the eye. He's a coward. Then one night we can finally talk. We're almost okay? I'm almost okay with this? I hunker down. I know this is the end. I put myself into a total frenzy. I don't remember freaking out like that ever, at least not since the first time. Throwing things and screaming. Not shedding a tear on the outside, but drowning from them on the inside. I try to sleep it off, too much whiskey. You come marching in like I owe you something. Like that was just a Broadcast to the world how much I love you. And you know, maybe it was, but it was also an interpretation of how much you hurt me. How much I hurt me by letting you in the last time... He wants under the covers and you can't fall for it. He knows your weaknesses. He knows what to say to make you wet. You can't escape. And then you crawled into my bed. Then you held me close. My rigor mortis set in. Dead to me. I tried to play dead. That's what you do when the predator comes back, right? Play dead? Your warm breath on my neck. Your strong hands on my cold skin. You are my slow psychic death. I felt like screaming out for someone to help me but all I could do was kiss you. Let you kiss me. Touch me. Fuck me. Over and over I've replayed these images of us and threw them in the ground to be buried. Your hand in between my legs, I felt my heart being ripped out through my cunt. "Trust me," you said and I burst into laughter. Hand over mouth and I'm helpless. Maybe these bruises will remind me that feeling good with you will always hurt me later. Always.