When I feel the way that I feel right this moment, during other moments, I think the thoughts that I’m thinking right now, then, as well. This is how I know I’m describing a feeling that is rooted in something tangible (metaphorically?)
When you are breaking down. When you are spinning out. When you are experiencing anxieties (which to me seem trivial) that are debilitating and unmanageable. I am always there. When you are right. When you are wrong. When you’re in a blackout. When you’re being a selfish asshole. I am always fucking there.
Mistake after shortcoming after failure after apology I have stayed…
But when I am sad. When I am hurting. When I am crying. When I am feeling disconnected from you and try to explain in my unpoetic ways with my imperfect sentences and incomplete thought particles… You aren’t there. And I’m beginning to despise you for it.
I can’t be a part of this when the precedents of our encounters dictate that I am not allowed to fall apart. There will be no help in putting my parts back together. My hands are tired from one trying to prop myself up while the other one blindly stumbles around for fragments it can recognize from touch-memory.
Sometimes it’s as simple as needing to feel your body nudge up against mine in a deliberate, sweet, and safe manner. Sometimes it’s as annoying as you telling me to talk to you when you hear me sniffling on the other side of that vast king bed when it’s probably the last thing you want to hear.
I had excuses for it before. The drugs. The place you are in life. The acclimation process. The sun. The stars. The goddamn Astros. But the excuses are tired of being forced into the equation and my spirit is worn out from trying to stay afloat. I deserve better. I require better. I am asking for bread and butter, not figs and wine, I need you to see this or let me go.
No. I need to reaffirm these beliefs in myself and let you go. Right?
Perhaps- there is a middle ground. The thing I search so desperately for, all the fucking time.