‹ Prequel: Rainy Days
Status: Complete. May post other snapshots though.
Lonely Nights
Lonely Nights
I’m counting the freckles on your back. I end up doing this in the hours between 2 and 5, before the morning light and heat takes your body away from me. I think about the memories I have with you, so many despite the short amount of time that has passed that turned me into yours. You sleep more or less soundly, as I haven’t figured out whether you are a light sleeper or not. Either way you don’t seem to mind my occasional kisses to your pale flesh when I get curious about your taste. I don’t know if you understand how torn apart I am over you—hell I think that you are willfully ignorant sometimes—not that I blame you really. I just wonder sometimes how in love I have become and your passive amusement at my affection and feelings. My childish tendencies are not something I feel ashamed of, but with you I feel like it’s the reason why you don’t say you love me. Perhaps I am a victim of your waning youth, an urge to remember childhood and teenage mediocrity. Or maybe I’m just the first person to bleed for you so willingly, instead of just bleeding on you. Whatever the case your freckles tell me nothing and I swallow shame and self-hatred and roll over for fear of crying.
I don’t think I will ever understand this. I don’t think I need to either. Perhaps it is a destiny that neither of us believes in that put forth the motions for my unrequited love. In some ways I think unrequited healthy love is the best that someone as damaged as me can ever hope to obtain. Yes, damaged. You pretend with a certain smugness that my stability is a pillar of my personality—when really all it really is, is a veneer that I hide my boogeymen underneath. Character should never be measured by how a person is seen by their lovers or friends. Character should be measured by the dark places no one is invited to. And darling, if you looked there you wouldn’t have me in your bed with you.
I’m confused, I’m scared, I’m hurt, and I’m in love. These things seem to mesh into one another more often than not. I walked around the city tonight trying not to cry and looking for some sign that this inadequacy I feel is all in my head. But the sun fell below the horizon and fear drove my feet back to you. And you waited there, completely calm looking up your science news and checking on all those grand ideas for the future. I wanted to scream and tell you to pay attention to the present. I watched you through glass eyes wondering if I was always going to be looking out through my prison at your optimistic callousness. You told me how women are inherently irrational yet you do not see how men are inherently cruel. That kind of ignorance must be bliss.
As we faded into sleep I felt our nude bodies press and mold in teasing dances. Do we still make love or is it just biology? I wish I knew. I think you may have noticed how I pulled away, to which you whispered your mantra of “everything will be okay.” It’s funny in a way, how a person can break into pieces in front of you and how you don’t notice until it’s too late. We didn’t have sex and for once I didn’t mind too much. But now it’s 3 in the morning and my back is against yours. I’m waiting for the sun to rise and I’m trying not to cry. If only I had the courage to ask you to hold me, and if only you had the patience to do so without sighing.
I don’t think I will ever understand this. I don’t think I need to either. Perhaps it is a destiny that neither of us believes in that put forth the motions for my unrequited love. In some ways I think unrequited healthy love is the best that someone as damaged as me can ever hope to obtain. Yes, damaged. You pretend with a certain smugness that my stability is a pillar of my personality—when really all it really is, is a veneer that I hide my boogeymen underneath. Character should never be measured by how a person is seen by their lovers or friends. Character should be measured by the dark places no one is invited to. And darling, if you looked there you wouldn’t have me in your bed with you.
I’m confused, I’m scared, I’m hurt, and I’m in love. These things seem to mesh into one another more often than not. I walked around the city tonight trying not to cry and looking for some sign that this inadequacy I feel is all in my head. But the sun fell below the horizon and fear drove my feet back to you. And you waited there, completely calm looking up your science news and checking on all those grand ideas for the future. I wanted to scream and tell you to pay attention to the present. I watched you through glass eyes wondering if I was always going to be looking out through my prison at your optimistic callousness. You told me how women are inherently irrational yet you do not see how men are inherently cruel. That kind of ignorance must be bliss.
As we faded into sleep I felt our nude bodies press and mold in teasing dances. Do we still make love or is it just biology? I wish I knew. I think you may have noticed how I pulled away, to which you whispered your mantra of “everything will be okay.” It’s funny in a way, how a person can break into pieces in front of you and how you don’t notice until it’s too late. We didn’t have sex and for once I didn’t mind too much. But now it’s 3 in the morning and my back is against yours. I’m waiting for the sun to rise and I’m trying not to cry. If only I had the courage to ask you to hold me, and if only you had the patience to do so without sighing.