I tell you I miss you and hate it. You say, love it. I ask why. You say, because I should. It doesn't make sense to me, so I ask for clarity. You retreat, telling me to meditate on it. Or, rather, asking me why won't I instead of you breaking it down. You simply just will not. You're strong willed in the bittersweet, turning me on and pushing me away at once.
You want me to deeply assess why I miss you? Aww, baby, Why? Why? Why? Why am I so naive?
You don't want me anymore than one wants bad credit but you charge your card sometimes for the thrill. I'm fearing that you'll soon pay the bill and be at full credit again. Only to increase your limit and buy more prime expenses. I'd be used for you only to be the false revenue in your pocket.
I'm a fool. Again. Following the history of my ancestors; loving men unavailable for purchase, and lending to those willing to rent. No need to reupholster. Just give me what is left. I accept. My actions worry me all the more.
I love a man not available to me which isn't love at all. I desire a part of him that doesn't exist for me and he knows. I can't sleep thinking about what he is doing and who he is with but he tells me that I should love missing him. I want to think that He is a selfish, egotistical piece that plans to make no room for me... Truth is, I'm the selfish, egotistical piece that has made too much room for him.
I believe I can change a man's desire when he has been frank and honest with me about his wants and needs for self preservation. I'm the idealist, hopeful romantic thinking that maybe one day I can wish his love true. Wondering if my deeds, talents and brown can get him to stay. Too impatient with myself to believe he is not the one and closing myself from reality because our pretend feels so damn good.
We play....I insist that we play cuz even make believe feels just in this blurred reality. So, I allow. Still fearing the day I knock and he won't answer, not even because of someone else but simply because I was never meant to be kept. Old news. New season.
And, he tells me to meditate. I think I aggravate him with my inquiry. He has me, upon my request, with desire minus the heart. Being she, secretly wanting his mold to stay imprinted, that I may be able to preserve, if only, a piece of him.
Truth is, I'm more heart than anything, and it breaks me every time our eyes meet because I'm reminded that he's not looking at love. I don't feel sufficient. I want him to want me more than I want him to be okay with me wanting him, and I move in circles worrying about what will be in this commitmentless land.
I should be able to fight. Truth is, to be with him, I chose, risking that I regress. Gullibly faithful that we may make progress.
He tells me to love missing him and meditate on it. I try to say "forget him" until upon a touch I "remember him", and fall back into whatever I have to to come with him again.
Truth hurts.
