Giving up...
Giving up, it's one of the hardest things to do. And people give up on lots of things dreams, lovers, or even friends.
They say the more you love someone, the more you can hate that person. Well...
You know, the feeling you get when you meet the man you think you're going to marry. That feeling that makes your toes curl, your heart flutter, and your eyes water. Yes, that feeling, the one that makes your words come out all wrong, your hands sweat, and your brain to think things that make absolutely no sense what-so-ever. It's not about sex, or anything dirty, it's simply about the person's body chemistry that makes your blood pressure rise.
Now imagine the opposite of that. This is where the "hating" part of the equation comes in. There is a flurry of wailing tears, of rage, anger, frustration, and pure disappointment. Disappointment because we all struggle to allow ourselves to be vulnerable to each other, and then after we piss ourselves in front of God and everyone else, we get pissed on.
So finally, after years of loving, hating, and feeling completely devoid of feel over one man. I decided that enough is enough.
So finally, after years of loving, hating, and feeling completely devoid of feel over one man. I decided that enough is enough.
Giving up. One must give up at some point. Move on.
And even allow ourselves to be vulnerable again.
So I give up, by being the adult, I say to The Writer "I can't do this anymore, we must move on."
He replies, "You are absolutely right, I need to get my shit together. I drank too much, I party too much, I have too many other girls in my life..."
SHRREEECHH. Halt.
"Other women??? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, cheating on me?"
Wait, we're breaking up. I don't want to know about your life, or ANYTHING ELSE, that includes the other hoochie mama's you have coming around."
Ended.
So I thought. Until I started getting 11pm-2am texts and calls. "Hey B-Rabbit" blah blah... always oddly uncreative coming from one of the most talented writers alive.
I ignore.
The text/calls become more and more, until I decide perhaps maybe this is physical, we can just fuck. Every once in a while, at 11pm-2am we will decide to use each others bodies as lusty playgrounds, full of the excitement and joy we have giving each other for a very long time. Hum. I like this idea. It's free unattached sex, from someone I know can do it to me right!
We text sex for WEEKS (but it feels more like MONTHS).
"I can't wait to feel you big hard cock slide inside of me again."
"I want you to sit on my face."
Stuff like that... but obviously it gets dirtier.
Finally, after hours of debating a date, we choose Friday night. (In my mind, a Friday night, that's a date night, what if I get a date for that night and decide to go home with him). Instead, my date was my typical Friday night date with all my girlfriends and a bunch of booze. I got drunk. I forgot. Was at another man's house, finishing off a bottle of wine, hitting a pipe.
The writer, he got upset. This time he broke up with me. Some long email about how much he loves me and didn't think "hitting and quitting with me was such a lovely idea."
Whew, OK, maybe I didn't get laid this weekend, but at least I got rid of the man I have been trying to get rid of for years now.
Fourth of July, away for the weekend with another man. What happens, the asshole texts, and calls. Good thing I didn't get service.
It's as if he knows when I'm with another man, and comes back into my life at that moment.
I WANT TO GIVE UP. I WANT TO MOVE ON. I really want to be able to let go. But when I hear his voice, or feel his touch. I melt. My body hurts, my eyes water, my hands sweat. I am in love with a man who can't love me the way I need to be loved. And times isn't healing. It isn't helping, if anything it makes it harder.
So I give up, by being the adult, I say to The Writer "I can't do this anymore, we must move on."
He replies, "You are absolutely right, I need to get my shit together. I drank too much, I party too much, I have too many other girls in my life..."
SHRREEECHH. Halt.
"Other women??? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, cheating on me?"
Wait, we're breaking up. I don't want to know about your life, or ANYTHING ELSE, that includes the other hoochie mama's you have coming around."
Ended.
So I thought. Until I started getting 11pm-2am texts and calls. "Hey B-Rabbit" blah blah... always oddly uncreative coming from one of the most talented writers alive.
I ignore.
The text/calls become more and more, until I decide perhaps maybe this is physical, we can just fuck. Every once in a while, at 11pm-2am we will decide to use each others bodies as lusty playgrounds, full of the excitement and joy we have giving each other for a very long time. Hum. I like this idea. It's free unattached sex, from someone I know can do it to me right!
We text sex for WEEKS (but it feels more like MONTHS).
"I can't wait to feel you big hard cock slide inside of me again."
"I want you to sit on my face."
Stuff like that... but obviously it gets dirtier.
Finally, after hours of debating a date, we choose Friday night. (In my mind, a Friday night, that's a date night, what if I get a date for that night and decide to go home with him). Instead, my date was my typical Friday night date with all my girlfriends and a bunch of booze. I got drunk. I forgot. Was at another man's house, finishing off a bottle of wine, hitting a pipe.
The writer, he got upset. This time he broke up with me. Some long email about how much he loves me and didn't think "hitting and quitting with me was such a lovely idea."
Whew, OK, maybe I didn't get laid this weekend, but at least I got rid of the man I have been trying to get rid of for years now.
Fourth of July, away for the weekend with another man. What happens, the asshole texts, and calls. Good thing I didn't get service.
It's as if he knows when I'm with another man, and comes back into my life at that moment.
I WANT TO GIVE UP. I WANT TO MOVE ON. I really want to be able to let go. But when I hear his voice, or feel his touch. I melt. My body hurts, my eyes water, my hands sweat. I am in love with a man who can't love me the way I need to be loved. And times isn't healing. It isn't helping, if anything it makes it harder.
So, today, I give up on the idea of being truly in love with only one man. I give up on this idea, because I have realized that I will always love more than one man. The one that I can not have, The Writer, and whomever I choose to exchange vows with.
