olive u.

"Don't say anything."

I just wanted it to sit there, at least for a little while. Selfishly, I needed the weight of my words to hang in the air- for me to hear myself say it. You respected that, only repeating my words back to me for clarity.

I got here without an external push. Without an expectation I should say it back, because someone else said it, rather than allowing for me to get there on my own. I got here my way.

I had an inkling, even a wondering I was feeling this way. Then new years happened, and it all shifted. It really was just that, a shift rather than a thunderclap, or whatever other literary way one would say it. You came into focus, like adjusting a camera lens. Once I felt that, I noticed more and more all of the little things I was appreciating about you- and the ones that drove me batty, but were just as much a part of you. Isn't it defined like that? Wanting all of someone, not just the pretty bits?

Going back to last night- what a jumble of emotion and thought once it was said- a sense of bravery, and terror. Relief and apprehension.

The decompression was real. I don't throw those words around lightly. I don't say them to just anyone, and the important people in my life know... when I say it, I mean it. It's not just a feeling in my stomach, a notion, or infatuation. A proper cry in the shower set me right afterward, as well as rinsed the days make-up off my face. Winning all around.

Now the lesson beaten into my head over and over rears its ugly head- I control nothing but my own actions from here. I can't take the words back, and I don't want to. I understand we react differently, may or may not feel my words are weighted. There very well may not be reciprocity. I finally understand what it must have felt like for everyone else, saying it first. Woof. Frank did say it was a kick in the head...

I also think I understand more than I ever did what these words mean. You are perfectly imperfect. A creature similar me, with a past filled with stories, dings in your armor, successes and failures. You have so much to give, and you've had quite a bit taken. Still working to face forward.

The things I know as I write this- you enhance my happiness, and challenge me. Hold space for me as no one else has, and respect all of my idiosyncrasies. You've cared for me at a time I've never felt more physically insecure, and emotionally confident.

I'm not sure if or when I'll say it again. Trying to go by how it feels. I'm just glad you don't feel the pressure I always did. I'm glad it was you I said it to.

Turns out I still have those rose- glasses from my younger years. Thanks for the reminder.

innocuous.

You write when it suits you, thinking it's innocuous. It isn't to me.

I can't even explain why I allow such access. I know the feelings have faded. At least that is the case for me. But there's a tether, a something. It's quite ambiguous. Something I can't quite explain.

I've cut you off before.

My bigger question is- why? What is it you're seeking? You know I won't come back. You know I only think of you when you reach out.  That's all it is- think, and let it go. So why reach out?

Questions I won't have answered, and I don't care to pursue. I'm curious, it's true. Not curious enough to pursue it.

You wish me the best, tell me you think of me often. What is it you're hoping to convey? I could tell you to stay away from me, give me peace. So why don't I? I can't answer that today either.

Shhh. My brain is busy.

I am currently hiding in my bedroom.

Why you might ask? Because I'm peopled out. It happens.

I may or may not have lied to my friends today, because I couldn't even fathom socializing.

So I lied, took myself to dinner, caught up with one of my favorite bartenders at one of my favorite restaurants, (she always remembers my order, which I know isn't really a thing. But I feel so damn special anyway), then sang off-key to Hoobastank and the Subways whilst driving around town... because I didn't want to be around anyone.

Afterwards I came home, and made a bee-line for my bedroom.

I can't always get away from the cacophony of sound between my ears. Then the thought of being around anyone while I'm...well...overthinking- sounds awful. So I run. Listen to not so great music. Well, I think the music is fantastic, but whatever.

Someone I know recently referred to themselves as high strung, because they said the wheels are always turning in their head. I actually woke up next to said person the other morning, pondering things like... well, so much fucking randomness. Things that were so far from pertinent.

So you know, I'm coping by uh... proper amounts of healthy avoidance.

Anyone else feel like they want, or need to run away? But since joining the circus isn't a thing anymore, you can't really run. You just find ways to avoid your life, within your life.

Like hiding in my bedroom. Blogging to no one in particular. Most likely sounding like a psycho hose beast... BECAUSE I'M CURRENTLY TALKING TO MYSELF WHILE TYPING THIS. OUT LOUD.

I don't have a pretty ending to this, except I'm going to finish this episode of Dollface, Then burrow under my covers, and hope my brain resets tomorrow. All the mers.

a constant craving.

I crave your touch.

A newer sensation, as I would never had said I was one for wanting to be touched. Occasionally, maybe fleetingly before. They say never say never.

Is it because it's your primary language? Your words are rarer morsels, but your touch given more often. I'm not sure. I don't want to chase the thought either. Maybe one day I'll know.

My aversion has always been there. Touch was something taken from me at times when I didn't want to give it. I haven't felt that with you. If anything, I notice it more when you don't touch me. Odd thing, that.

When I submit to you, it's my choice. I'm not callously throwing myself at someone who won't appreciate what they're being given- a part of me. You're not taking more than you ought.

I look into your eyes in the more intimate moments, and get lost. My aversion to eye contact having fallen away, which hasn't been the case before. I've told you a bit about that. I haven't told you I always kept them closed in moments like those. Always.

The boops on the nose, the nuzzling. The kisses that deepen, and the kisses that don't. All of it.

a constant craving.

safety.

You nuzzled into my braids, and I was undone. Its one of my favorite kinds of touch- encircled in your arms, you holding me close. My muscles relaxed, the remaining tension from a long travel day lost, seeping out of my body. My curvature meeting yours. 

I closed my eyes, and let out a long sigh... I knew I was safe there. 

Do you know? Do you know you're safe here- with me?

You say these things. Little things. About your inabilities. To emote, to let someone in. Maybe to feel to a fuller capacity. Alarm bells ring in my ears- listen to what they are telling you. The absence of "feeling" is the presence of pain. 

I still don't want to fix you. Truly. 

I do want to hold space for you. Maybe even give you an inkling of what you've given me- 

hope. 

I'm beginning to dismiss time- its arbitrary to me now. I do feel like I'm getting to know you. Our shared experiences allowing for more insights into you. That being said, a line from Cinderella plays in the back of my head, "Am I making believe I see in you a (man) too perfect to be really true?" Perfect is a false construct, but I know why this phrase plays over and over in my brain. My mistake before has been to fall for potential. It's a reminder to ask myself- is that what's happening here?

I don't believe so. It goes back to the little things. The thoughtful gestures, touch. You're growing vocabulary with me. I feel, as well as see your efforts towards me. They aren't grand, obnoxious or overblown.  but I wouldn't want them to be. Things are being earned here. Trust- in both yourself, and me. 

I'm growing braver in my expression- not to force your hand, or create undue influence. I hope you know that. I trust you. It was there from the beginning. There was something innate here. I don't expect you to be the same. I'm constantly reminded I'm built just off of center. 

Maybe if I'm luckily, you are too. 

proper courting

Maybe it's maturity. Maybe it's the cataloging of my experiences. What does it say about me- How much I'm surprised by feeling this way?

I have to give myself permission for the mistakes of my past. Allowing for one suitor, and then another, and another to not live up to what I wanted, very possibly needed. Letting the people I loved, or thought I loved to treat me as less than- ever. To fetishize me, pigeonhole me. Not support me in my dreams, the way I supported them in theirs. Giving myself away, for a chance at someone I was afraid I might never have. Instead breaking my own heart over and over again.

How is it someone I haven't known long makes me feel safe? Safe to feel, safe to express myself. To sit in my sadness, and not try to fix me. Because I'm not broken. Neither are they. Their quiet support, their nonjudgemental demeanor- part of me is sad I'm so surprised. Surprised they exist.

This isn't me putting them on a pedestal. Far from it, actually. I think it's seeing clearly- both them and me. Standing in my truth, and not feeling afraid. It's simple- saying what they mean. Meaning what they say. Not pouring honey in my ear, to no ones benefit. Listening to me. Taking in stride my curiosity, an inquisitiveness born from wanting to know them better. Showing me their flaws, and commiserating with me over mine. Asking me questions- no one asks me questions. Partly my fault, but still. They don't let me avoid them.

I'm thankful for each tryst, each quiet moment laying on the couch, or cuddling up next to them. Waking up to them making fun of my sleep noises, because I know it isn't born from malice. Them looking at me through one eye, because they aren't awake yet either.

I didn't know. I didn't know what proper courting was. I didn't know I could feel so free, to just sit in this skin. Built as I'm built. To feel wanted this way. I hope they know, it's mutual.

It's a lung qi kind of feeling.

I cried as I went over my notes.

Tears running down my face, as I repeatedly wrote out page after page in short hand, to help myself memorize it all. I don't remember things the way I used to. Beethoven playing in the background, drowning out unwanted sounds.

I was asked today why I felt such a strong need to go back to school again. I had my cookie cutter answers ready. The ones people expect to hear. Just adding more tools to my practice, life long student, making sure I have job security. Of course I'm loving it. These answers only contain a grain of truth.

The deeper truth is twofold- I know I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. I can never, nor should I expect anyone to take care of me. If anything has been reinforced over and over for me is- no one will come in riding on their snow white steed to sweep me off my feet, and take care of me. Not emotionally, not financially. So I build myself up again and again, finding more and more ways to shore up an almost unwanted independence. In truth, it's not even that I want to be saved. Maybe knowing there's someone who just wants to. Who wants to "save"me, but will never really need to.

Secondly, I don't think there will be a day I trust my own intelligence. I will never be smart enough. Enough, enough. So I strive for more and more information to force into my brain. Maybe, just maybe I can know enough to feel like I'm not lagging behind in some way.

So I cry while I study. I hit my pillow exhausted at night, oftentimes not to sleep well. Fitfully turning over and over in my sleep. I've been told I twist and turn, making small noises with every movement.

It's not for lack of interest in the information. Of course I'm picking things I find fascinating. Things hopefully stimulating enough that I can lie to myself a bit- you're doing this just because you're passionate. That of course is such a small percentage of what drives me.

I imagine this won't be the last time I cry through my studies. Here's hoping for different reasons.