I was looking for you yesterday. Vulnerable and non-dominant, only a couple of people know me like that. I’ve had a hard time opening up recently, although I look like I spill my secrets the way I spill tea. I am still waiting on your reply. And I shake.
Thing is, I don’t feel anything. I’ve haven’t felt anything close to “feelings” in almost 3 years.
It’s my birthday in 2 days. I usually always plan out everything. I’m the one who has everything figured out. Not this time, not now. I’m letting go. I’m trying to let go of everything. I cannot. I guess my mind and my body haven’t gotten over the trauma from years ago. I guess those are the types of scars that remain forever written in your brain.
I am hoping to see you. You tall, handsome, young man, a gentleman at a worst case scenario. Yet, I am the one who’s the worst case scenario here. And this, this love letter to a worst scenario. A wreck, emotional roller coaster, woman with morals, dominance, arrogance, ego and self-confidence. A lot of people love to call me names. And do not get me wrong, all of this adjectives and nouns do persist well together with my name. Yet I am more than that, thing is, I rarely let people see it. Rarely who gets to see me cry in times like these. Rarely who gets to hold my hand and envision them in my life.
Yes it is all an act. However, it’s an act that I personally believe in, which means it’s not an actual act. It’s philosophy, it’s war. It’s a short-lived story that only has a couple of breaths left. I fell in love with the music you showed me. I didn’t fall in love with you. Thing is, I don’t really think (at least at this moment) I can fall for anyone. Especially not you.
I barely fall for myself. Maybe I’m not meant to fall for you or you for me. I don’t even know if you like or if it all was a spur of a moment thing. Yet, once again nothing happened. I play out all the possible scenarios in my head over and over again until I reach one that actually could work.
There is none. There is no happy end, or “fin” at the end of this scene. It’s a love letter to no one. It’s a message to you. I want to talk to you while the world is burning and we both ignite it.
I want to show you the earliest of sunrises, I want to make your blood boil with adrenaline. I want to make you feel alive. I want to wear your ditsy shirts, while my body paints a portrait in your mind. I want to lock myself in your memories, the way you lock notes in it.
I want to be yours. I want your tight grip, the way you did that night. I want to be sassy and rude. I want you to be a man I know you can be.
God, you are full of surprises. You and your love for extraordinary things, your finesse and elegance. Your rebellion and attention to detail and competitiveness. It took me one day.
One day to see you the way you are. One day, to wish to talk to you, for what right now seems eternity. Yet. I do not. I do not force or start a conversation with you. I do not track you and text you and talk to you.
No. I play my chess, still trying to be three steps ahead of you. And yet, my plan is failing. So, I stop playing. I induce you into my “lies” and introduce you to a world far way too known for you.
Act two. We kiss. I hold your head and reach your cheekbones, slightly goose-bumped from my cold hands. They never get warm. Not even in summer. Neither do my feelings. It is all a matter of play, cleverly created to keep us occupied for the time being. To prevent boredom and to inject memories into our heads, which will get us drunk when the time is up.
And everything has a time up. An expiration date. Everything ends and nothing is forever. You cannot taste liberty for one eternity. One day, your blood will run cold and mine will go mildly warm. Yet, you will never know the feeling of hot blood running through my veins. You will never see the love in my eyes. Yet amazement and admiration will always be present.
Thing is, I enjoy the gray area. I know it’s wrong to feel nothing, yet I enjoy being safe. Of course I am missing all the magic in between, but being intertwined in something so generous is a true crime.
A crime is to love you now. A crime is to text you and ask how your day was. You’re not going to respond anything. You are smart and you know I plan my every move. Then again, I am the one who has this all figured out.
So, here I go, me and my stack of cards, of fortune telling and gut feelings. I strip myself from the power to love you and feel something, yet I want to wrap my body around yours like the snake I am. It’s a divine feeling. At least my thoughts are pure and honest.
It’s 3:54 right now. I am writing this, while my eyes are gently closing to the sound of birds chirping in the late hours of the night. You are in a different bed, with a different denim jacket and shirt.
Technically, we are far away. I wish It would stay that way. That’s the only way I know I will never get hurt. And right now, not getting hurt is at the top of my list of priorities. You are not that important as I’ve made you look like here.
You are not as important to me. Yet, it is true, that deep inside me the angst to talk to you is rising. Call it whatever you want. Call it “feelings” if you will. But truth is, I can end the “relation” in minutes after it happens. IF it happens.
At this point, I have no idea what your thoughts are on me. Is it on the red, silky, backless tied dress I so vividly described, to seduce your thoughts and make you desire me? Is it on the way how I carry myself, or how I was looking at you, while slowly moving my hips?
We are perfectionists and detail-oriented. We do not let things happen. We plan things out. We capture each other thoughts in a chamber and work around. It’s a competitive spirit battlefield. Where guns are replaced with information and everything is part of the plan.
However, the thing about plans are that they’re exactly that – plans and not reality. It’s 4:01 now. I still look for you as the tallest man in the sauna of smoke. You’re not there. I look again. An empty stare-back from the room. Silence.
I go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day for you to not reply to my messages. Tomorrow this “love letter” is published and my thoughts are ended. The string has untied and it all ceased to exist. In that brief second of excellence, so did we.
Yet, as you said. It will all just be a memory. And memories are fuel for new plans. Yet, I am done planning. I give up on you completely. Because you are not worth it anyways.