a dysfunctional love letter

You tell me about a new favorite song and I cringe as you hit play -  Not because I don’t want it hear it - but because I don’t need another reminder of you floating about the world. I watch as a silent spectator while the music consumes you and I listen as you explain with eyes closed why the track is worthy of your passion...and I'm jealous of a song.  And you’re giddy and uncharacteristically open and I can sense your usual, carefully crafted façade fading. This is your version of intimacy, isn't it?  All I can do is watch as you unravel to a beat; stoic in my observation of this rare occasion. And it makes me wonder- do you ever feel like I do? Like you might explode at any moment for lack of expression or too much expression or just being inside your own brain?  Can I tell you those parts of myself?  I keep my cards just as hidden as you do and the result is two people who don't know enough, who take too much, who pretend to see. Who will never be together because of their quiet pride, but who will stay intertwined in their mutual addiction to a physical bond.

There are days I swear I’ll never speak to you again…caffeine ridden days that I wander and write and create and feel okay without telling you my every thought for the sole reason that my voice sounds better when echoing off you.  And then come the alcohol reigning nights when I drift back to the right side of your bed with your body next to me taking up so much more space in the world than mine. And your bigness in life overwhelms me and hushes me and seduces me.  I adore you next to me.  I crave you. Greedily you’ve dived into me…giving yourself but taking more; hastily grasping at pleasure or closeness or amour propre at eliciting the dig of my fingernails a little deeper into your freckled back.  I let you because I want that for you, I want anything for you that you want for yourself.  I want to give to you.  I want all if this despite the fact that I will fall asleep next to your snoring shell -the only way i know you. When it all comes down, whether awake or asleep, you are the same unreachably mystical person that I’ll never have.

And it’s sad to only be acquainted with a man while he’s lying to you or lying on top of you.

diary of a masochist

Have you ever had a heartbreak that just wouldn't seem to go away?  Mine has taken up permanent residence with me like an oozing boil growing more infected every day, but instead of getting the proper medical attention to curb the infection I endure it. 

Heartbreak occurs more quickly than you ever thought possible and often with fewer gentle words than you feel you deserve given the pain that follows.  I find I'm constantly astonished at how clean and concise the parting of ways manifests on the surface - how casually someone can exit your life after having entered like a welcome whirlwind that came with its own soundtrack, rumpled your well-made bed, and branded your favorite Brooklyn hideaways.  A brief exchange can end the prospect of what you assumed was a promised future despite such a memorable past; leaving behind a labrynth of doubt to face.

Like a true masochist, my way of facing this doubt is clinging to it - because if you think about it, isn't being heartbroken such a beautifully somber occasion?  Think of all the Celine Dion sing alongs in your shower!!  Think of wine and chips in bed! I look kind of cute after I tear up!  I'm by no means taking selfies with heavy black eyeliner and I haven't listened to Dashboard Confessional in 6 years...but there's something so poignant in my missing him that I must admit I enjoy.  I feel a sting as I walk past the restaurant in Soho where we had our first date and I'm slapped in the face everytime Chvrches is shuffled on my Spotify - and buried in the hurt there's a chill of happiness in each moment of remembering us. 

When confronted with this man today, I consciously know why we're not together and recognize that he and I are like an attempt at a high-five that only grazes the fingertips.  And yet. Maybe feeling a loss for an extended amount of time isn't as self-destructive as it sounds.  It's made me wonder if our heartbreak isn't just in fact a reminder of our ability to love -  a phenomenon we don't need to tirelessly try to "heal" from, but something we should remember fondly and often.