Desire is not enough…

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

-Robert Frost


Re: No Subject


I sat up all night waiting for this to be a dream. Or a joke. Or something other than what it was. Relationships don’t just end in three paragraph emails. You simply can’t disappear on me. It’s not fair.

I am not a business transaction you can just end on a whim. Especially not after you tell me you’re in love with me. Because you realize that’s kind of a MAJOR PLOT POINT. Because yes, we are a long story. There are plenty of twists and turns and an absurd rising action but very little resolution.

And you changed everything. So excuse me if I need a moment to gather my thoughts on the matter. I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner, but you see I had other matters to attend to, such as:

-Finding an attorney to help me voice my own guilt in our transgressions
-Condemning us both in verse. (Of course you’ll get none of the proceeds to the endless books I could write on our tumultuous love affair)
-Buying wool socks to keep my feet warm after you vanished from between my cold sheets

Oh and I forgot to vote because of you. Not that my opinion holds much weight in any election when you’ve just decided to run off and spill my secrets to the press that I’m a bad person, who actually likes to keep some things to herself to avoid the paparazzi and its starving lust at devouring what little I had to begin with.

And you think this is about you.

Bullshit. It stopped being about you the moment you stepped off that plane and came crashing into my life expecting me to love you. Just like that. Really though…I’m a mess in comparison. So don’t you treat me like I’ve made any plans to haunt you when I’ve got plenty of ghosts following me.

I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations. But at least I’m still here, fighting. Even if it is in poetry. At least I’m here. Where as you are gone. Fucking coward.

With all due respect,

These Words

What is there to say to you?

I’ve wondered why I keep writing about you, to you, for you, after all this time. I repeatedly pick up a pen and find scraps of paper just to get my thoughts down before I forget. I’m always searching for better words, simpler phrases, non cliche metaphors, more honest ways of reaching out to you. My mind is in constant contemplation of how to get through to you.

Don’t you realize, how much you mean to me?

But apparently that’s not enough. Nothing I do is ever enough. Has it ever occurred to you, that you ask too much of me? I am not perfect. I make mistakes. And everything I want to say to you, gets misconstrued with what you think you hear. And even this confession, after so many others I’ve handed to you in my own vulnerability, may go unheard in your stubbornness to blame me for our downfall. Because I doubt you’ll read this. But then again, who knows what you’ll do in this silence.

All I know is that you left.

Without giving me a chance to fight for you. Your absence sucked the fight right out of me. I’m tired of this back and forth. Except I fear this time you’ll never come back. If only you had let me defend myself…I could have done something to save <this> whatever it is. Except it’s not what you want it to be. I’m not who you want me to be. Which is funny, because I tried for so long to be who you want. Then when I finally realized I should just be who I want to be, you decided you want me. But you never said you love me. Never directly to me.

Not that it would have changed things I suppose.

You want me, but do you love me? You never said. I can never read you, or these things you do and do not say. But if you do, love me that is…well, it would be ignorant of me to assume that your love is unconditional. Because I would think you’d understand that these things take time. We can’t just go back to who we were. That is what I do though, I assume. So I am wrong more often than not.

I am also sorry.

For a lot of things. For how we fell. For how we have apparently ended. We both made mistakes. Mostly out of our desire to keep each other close. I think, because I fear that if I let go–I’ll lose a part of myself. So I desperately try to keep you. As do you, with me. We’ll both have to learn how to forgive each other, and forgive ourselves for this mess we’ve made, together. I wish things could have been different. They aren’t though. We’ll have to get used to that.

I struggle to know what to say.

Knowing that some of it will hurt you. And some of it you’ll misconstrue. Especially if it comes out wrong. But I can’t say it if you won’t listen. I know you asked for space, for silence. Even though I don’t agree, I’ll respect it. And I’ll be here, if you ever need anything, studying my dictionary and sounding out every syllable as I write.

It’s just my nature.

To pour my heart out to you. Even if it comes out in tangles and I can’t stand how it sounds. Because I think I’ll always be writing to you, about you, for you. Because you’re you, and I’m me. No matter what happens, I’ll search forever for better words, simpler phrases, less cliche metaphors to reach out to you.

For now though, this is all I have to give.

December 12, 2009

A scavenger hunt is finished. Pizza is eaten.

Blue dancing too.

And then we walked home, pausing to lie down in the grass and stargaze.

You asked me to come say goodnight. And we didn’t talk about all the things we should have.

Because you were tired.