Part of me wants badly to hate you.
I realize now, you chose. Of all your opportunity, you chose not to act. Once I understood, once I opened up to you...
No matter now. As much as I mourn what was lost, I'm thankful. As much as what's happened since scares me, it's because of you. You opened the door.
Possibilities. Things I couldn't have imagined for myself...Things and people I thought were beyond my reach.
I thought I wanted so badly for it to be you, to build and love around you. I wasn't honoring myself. Respecting myself. Hearing my needs play out.
The truth is- a suitable partner wouldn't have let me- they wouldn't have let me give all of myself away. They wouldn't have waited, for all the time you did. You know I don't believe in bad timing, but you did.
Sometimes I wonder where you are, how you are. But this missing is in the periphery- I'd allowed you to break my heart too often. That's my fault.
I am not an idea. I was always clear about what I wanted. You knew. You knew.
You were more than an idea for me. I wonder if you know that? Not just a safety net. Not a just in case.
It's a true goodbye now. The kind you can't take back. The kind grand gestures can't erase, and good memories can't wash away. That's all you are now- a memory. Years worth of what ifs, culminating into a never could be.
Goodbye. Good luck. I hope for your sake, I was worth the losing. It took me far too long to realize-you were losing far more than I was.
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
Securely insecure
"Your demeanor changed..."
In recent years I've worked to go back to how I was when I was little, allowing for my thoughts and feelings to be writ plainly on my face. I coached my features in the between years to do the opposite, which in turn forced thoughts and feelings inward. "Conceal it, don't feel it." Who knew a goddamn Disney song could call me out exactly as I needed to be. That all being said, it's difficult now when someone sees or senses I'm off kilter. As if my body betrayed me, doing something I taught it to do.
When they said those words to me I was struggling not to be reactionary, hiding behind the mechanical movements of my hands. Not looking them in the eye- they caught that too. I was afraid I'd betray myself further. My body language had already turned protective.
When they pulled me close afterward, I struggled to stay present. To be there with them in the moment, not chasing the rabbit elsewhere. The let go happened gradually, me leaning into and concentrating on them more so than anything else. It's something I've been greatly comforted by, the connection we have there.
I'd inadvertently tapped into a fissure I naively hoped had been worked past. I led them into a narrative they didn't help co-write, but unwillingly played the role opposite of mine. One where all my deepest fears and leftover emotional scars boiled over into feeling. Not feeling wanted, or good enough. Deep set thoughts, attached to everything from rejection because of my skin color by someone I thought I'd loved, my own doubts in whether I'm deserving of any kind of love, and finally to a belated realization I don't think I've ever had someone truly fight for me to be theirs. Someone I've wanted in equal measure.
They haven't once communicated any of these things to me. I rationally knew that. We all know of course, rational thought doesn't always conquer the insecurities we've stock piled over time.
I woke up the next morning frustrated with myself, working hard to hide my face so they couldn't see the processing happening there. When they kissed me, I felt an earnestness- a want to communicate with them, without my words. I was okay, better than the night before.
Through sodden eyes I drove away from them, allowing the space growing between our bodies to process why things came to a head for me the night before.
I don't want to hurry things. Really, I don't. It's a mistake I've made in the past. One they told me they have too. We're both still healing from our past, and trying to put ourselves first.
I'm equally glad I didn't shoot from the hip and tell them all my thoughts as they came to me so clearly unfiltered, and frustrated because for the first time I've known them I wasn't honest. I know I don't have to tell them everything. But I want to.
I don't want to make another mistake I often have- set expectations and assumptions, instead of openly communicating with the other person. I'm struggling seeking reassurance, in a place filled with gray. They have economized theirs words, it's true. But I don't want to fill the spaces of their silence with the kinds of thoughts that will without a doubt end the story here. Never giving it a chance to seek its potential- whatever that may be.
They don't give me the nervous feeling in my stomach others have. Their flaws are as attractive as their attributes, someone just as comfortable in their skin as they aren't. Last night was the first time I'd projected onto them, otherwise I haven't tried to fill in the blanks. Just spent time, asked questions, and listened.
They are captivating and fascinating to me. For the first time I can remember- I don't want to fix them. Another mistake I've often made, pouring myself into someone else until they're filled up and whole, and I have nothing left. I might be wrong, but I think I've surprised them as much as they've surprised me.
I don't want to borrow trouble, as much as I don't want to leap forward. How do I do it? How can I find comfort here, without all the classical bullshit we've been taught to expect? They don't want to make promises they can't keep, and I don't want them to. I don't want to either. Something I'm sure will continue to occupy my musings, for now at least. Being securely insecure.
In recent years I've worked to go back to how I was when I was little, allowing for my thoughts and feelings to be writ plainly on my face. I coached my features in the between years to do the opposite, which in turn forced thoughts and feelings inward. "Conceal it, don't feel it." Who knew a goddamn Disney song could call me out exactly as I needed to be. That all being said, it's difficult now when someone sees or senses I'm off kilter. As if my body betrayed me, doing something I taught it to do.
When they said those words to me I was struggling not to be reactionary, hiding behind the mechanical movements of my hands. Not looking them in the eye- they caught that too. I was afraid I'd betray myself further. My body language had already turned protective.
When they pulled me close afterward, I struggled to stay present. To be there with them in the moment, not chasing the rabbit elsewhere. The let go happened gradually, me leaning into and concentrating on them more so than anything else. It's something I've been greatly comforted by, the connection we have there.
I'd inadvertently tapped into a fissure I naively hoped had been worked past. I led them into a narrative they didn't help co-write, but unwillingly played the role opposite of mine. One where all my deepest fears and leftover emotional scars boiled over into feeling. Not feeling wanted, or good enough. Deep set thoughts, attached to everything from rejection because of my skin color by someone I thought I'd loved, my own doubts in whether I'm deserving of any kind of love, and finally to a belated realization I don't think I've ever had someone truly fight for me to be theirs. Someone I've wanted in equal measure.
They haven't once communicated any of these things to me. I rationally knew that. We all know of course, rational thought doesn't always conquer the insecurities we've stock piled over time.
I woke up the next morning frustrated with myself, working hard to hide my face so they couldn't see the processing happening there. When they kissed me, I felt an earnestness- a want to communicate with them, without my words. I was okay, better than the night before.
Through sodden eyes I drove away from them, allowing the space growing between our bodies to process why things came to a head for me the night before.
I don't want to hurry things. Really, I don't. It's a mistake I've made in the past. One they told me they have too. We're both still healing from our past, and trying to put ourselves first.
I'm equally glad I didn't shoot from the hip and tell them all my thoughts as they came to me so clearly unfiltered, and frustrated because for the first time I've known them I wasn't honest. I know I don't have to tell them everything. But I want to.
I don't want to make another mistake I often have- set expectations and assumptions, instead of openly communicating with the other person. I'm struggling seeking reassurance, in a place filled with gray. They have economized theirs words, it's true. But I don't want to fill the spaces of their silence with the kinds of thoughts that will without a doubt end the story here. Never giving it a chance to seek its potential- whatever that may be.
They don't give me the nervous feeling in my stomach others have. Their flaws are as attractive as their attributes, someone just as comfortable in their skin as they aren't. Last night was the first time I'd projected onto them, otherwise I haven't tried to fill in the blanks. Just spent time, asked questions, and listened.
They are captivating and fascinating to me. For the first time I can remember- I don't want to fix them. Another mistake I've often made, pouring myself into someone else until they're filled up and whole, and I have nothing left. I might be wrong, but I think I've surprised them as much as they've surprised me.
I don't want to borrow trouble, as much as I don't want to leap forward. How do I do it? How can I find comfort here, without all the classical bullshit we've been taught to expect? They don't want to make promises they can't keep, and I don't want them to. I don't want to either. Something I'm sure will continue to occupy my musings, for now at least. Being securely insecure.
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