38 posts tagged “relationships”

Dear Girl, you fall in Love too quickly. Fuck. You're always breaking. And yet, you never seem to be searching. You just stumble on their Converse toes, spill lager on their vintage band tee, and start laughing. Dancing.  They fall in love with you, immediately.  But you don't give your heart away. No. First, you daydream.  The worse death for your dieing breed.  Imagine sentimental scenes.  See future romance in smoky bars.  Crawling into back seats and kissing, groping, touching. Bodies wet from thunderstorms of excitement.  After weeks of casual flirtations, Love slips into your veins.  You wish those dreams turn reality. 
That's when they pull away.
Exit stage left.
And leave you standing, naked and bruised, before a captivated audience.
In front of the velvet curtain.
All alone,
again.

The tears are being kept within reach.  Behind the white walls of these gray eyes.  It's okay.  I like them there.  Safe keeping.

I see us.  Dancing. Slowly. My head nestled in the dent between your collarbone and chest.  Inhaling the scents of a man.  Your palm rests on the small of my back.  Between the lip of my shirt and the belt of my pants.  There is some skin to skin contact. Some. 

It's crowded in this smoky bar where the band covers Irish punk rock, but I hear Ella Fitzgerald.  With her crisp, blue femininity.  And you hum soft romance to my cheeks.  Hush reassurance and tranquility, as I reach for some truth or explanation of life, in the accented lyrics of far off dreams.

In the center of this dirty sea, I'm ready to fall in love again.

I wish I could forget how I loved you.  I wish I didn't remember why.  I want to erase all the memories of gazes and touching and whispered promises.  When we believed there would be no more lonely Christmases.  When I romanticized struggling and a two room apartment.  When you weren't my first love, but the one I wanted.

I wish I could only remember the anger and hate.  I wish I only had memories of how you hurt me.  And recall the taste of vomit, stomach acid, when I felt like nothing more than a used body.  When I found your deceit, covered in cum and bathroom tissue.  That moment that made me doubt everything.

My most recent heartbleed.

He stumbles up to me, at 1:20.
Rests a sweaty palm on a sticky bar and tells me I'm beautiful.
I don't believe him.
I don't believe he knows my beauty.
I believe he finds me physically appealing.
And at 10 minutes till last call, he is searching for a warm body.
Is it too much to hope that one day, one man, may truly discover what my beauty means?
Instead of commenting on my breasts or eyes, one day, I would like sincerity.
One man to honestly look at me and say,
"The way you wrap your arms around your chest when you sleep. Protecting your heart center.
The way your silence is intellectual and challenging.
The way the music moves your soul and body.
And your passion for humanity.
It's the way you look while doing the dishes, in borrowed underwear, in a dirty kitchen.
It's when I catch you dancing in the living room. When you think no one is watching.
It's the way your hair falls around your face
And how every third step is a skip.
It's the way you sigh upon waking
And how you entertain my friends.
It's the dents that remain on my pillow hours after you've left.
It's the scar on your back shoulder. Smooth and pink and sensitive.
Or how you cry reading poetry or write rambled vulnerability.
It's how you give your heart, despite your head.
That is what makes you beautiful."

I was living with Bobby for 3 years. It was nice and comfortable and familial, but it wasn't what I wanted.  I wanted that spark. I needed passion.  And I struggled, for a year, with ending it.  It sent me to therapy. I didn't know that I could end a good relationship for the hope of a fantastic one.  I worried I was being selfish.  I worried that I was being naive.  I worried that I was making a mistake.
But after 2 years of knowing that I could not dedicate the rest of my life to this man, and 1 year spent struggling with how to present it, I ended it. With grace and beauty and empathy and dignity.  And he was understanding, more so than I could ever ask for.  He always knew it was coming.  We were different.  I wanted to change the world and he wanted to mow the lawn.  I traveled to Africa and China and Harlem, but I always went alone.  We went to the Caribbean and watched fireworks introduce a new year. We went to Montreal and ate Thanksgiving dinner at a romantic French restaurant.  We spent hundreds of dollars on bottles of red wine.  We ate cheese and chocolate and sushi.  And all of it was very nice, but not everything I wanted.
So one day early last May, while studying for the final exam of a 6 year college career, I decided it was time. I looked at the open Victorian farmhouse.  I welcomed the sun through the kitchen, bay windows for a final time.  I ascended the spiral staircase and smoked my last joint on the wrap around porch. 
Then I called my mother.
I asked her if I may come home. It had been 6 years since I last lived there. It had been 6 years, three colleges, one massive divorce, and a lot of evolving.  But I came home, to find me. 
I packed a three story house and unloaded it in my brother's old bedroom.  I went from living with a boyfriend to my mother, brother, plus two other roommates.  I left my adopted dog with the Ex and started feeding two cats and this stranger's pet.  But I went back to me. 
Breaking up with Bobby was the hardest thing I have yet to do because he was nothing but good to me.  He was nothing but loving.  But it was necessary.
I spent the Summer at the shore.  I went to the beach almost everyday.  I kept my job waiting tables at a seafood place and I saved 10 grand in 8 weeks (but that only lasted till January). 
I started my internship in September.
I've spent the last 8 months working 40 hours a week, with 20 plus hours devoted to required research.  I've worked in school systems, food banks, hospitals, and out patient clinics.  I volunteered at the NYC marathon, the local soup kitchen, and the library.  I've created products to be sold by major food distributors, campaigns to teach communities about health and nutrition, and grant proposals to promote wellness.
And everyday I thought about quitting.
Some mornings I woke up crying.  Some mornings I worried if there was enough money to pay my health insurance or if my credit card would cover the car payment. 
Some mornings I was grateful to be given this opportunity.  Some mornings I remembered that I have a gift and a drive to keep learning.  Some mornings I believed I could do anything.  On those mornings, the world was mine to save. 
And I had some fun too.
There was the friend who turned lover with one night's kiss.
And the boy from Chicago who begged me to see him.
The writer who sent me novels and poems and romance.
The rock-n-roll father who called me beautiful.
There was a band in October and I couldn't stop dancing.
There was a band in November who kept my heart key.
There was a cocaine devil who had plagued me. I sent him away, finally.
I had compliments and praise. My work was recognized and my determination noted.
And there was more. So much more.  Friends and lovers and music.  There were novels I started reading.  There were lessons I was learning and nights I kept dancing.
I met MSteady at a show, two years ago. I fell in love immediately. I wasn't trying. At this point, I was still with Bobby. And it was long and complicated and heartbreaking, but this past December, when we were both finally free of other relationships, I heard him say it:
"I Love You"
And God it was good.
I had waited 18 months to hear his confession. And for 3 months it was beautiful.
Exciting.
Passionate.
Dreams and Love and Touching.
I believed it to be my perfect romance story.
It carried me through the gray months of winter.  We laughed at the ridiculous Christmas tree decorated with blank CDs and homemade ornaments.  We kissed champagne lips on New Year's and danced in the empty streets, under falling snow.  We woke to coffee and cigarettes and music and love. 
I never missed the fancy French dinners or bottles of red wine.  I never missed the security of money or ever wanted him to entertain me.  I was elated to glow in his love.  It was all I ever wanted, from Bobby and all the men before him.  I wanted to feel appreciated and desired, and M made me feel it.
We talked about marriage and babies.  We talked about futures.
We talked about breaking the distance (did i mention we lived three hours apart?).
And we, together, we planned on me moving out there.
And it excited me.
And it scared me.
Because I was altering my plans to accommodate Us. I was leaving my friends and family and security to take Us to the next level.
And my friends worried I was giving up my dreams. And my family warned me not to let go of my goals. Even my program directors begged me to not let a man and a family interrupt my abilities.
But it was Us.  Not him and me, but We. And I was willing to alter my plans to allow Us a part of the story.
I was ready and willing and I wanted to, so badly.
Then things went slightly off.  I don't know how or why really, but there was distance and disconnect. We stopped having sex. And I tried to convince myself that we were just different lovers. That he needed to feel connected and I had a high drive (did I mention I'm 8 years younger?).
I blamed it on the distance.  I thought maybe it was the ebb and flow of a relationship.  I thought it may be different when we finally lived together.  That it will be different and splendid again, if we could only be together.
But you can't convince yourself of things that aren't true.
He pulled away, again. 
On Saturday he told me that he didn't like me, like I like him.  That he jumped head first into a relationship and he wasn't ready for it.  That he loved me for who I am.  That we have the same morals and ethics and values and passions, but he did not want this.

This Sunday, I move in.

Third house, second boy, one year.

I can't switch my internship. It's too late.  So I have to move in with my second Ex.

I'm finding me, all over again.
I remember the selfish things I want out of this life.  The travel and jobs and romance and commitment.

And in this year, I have learned, that there are noble ways to end a relationship.  That you can break up and still cherish and respect all that you had together.  That you can remain friends.
That you can end good things for the hope that there is something better.
That having passion and love doesn't secure commitment.
That I can't love you enough for the both of us.
I have learned that I am an excellent girlfriend.
And I deserve better than this.
I have learned to be honest, with myself and my men.
That I am strong and beautiful, magical and determined.

And even if I am crawling, with bruises and blood and a heart full of stitches, I will cross that finish line.
And I will be a success.

tell me what you would like me to do, Love.
tell me, how should i act?
scream angry hate rage and spit in your worried face? spew venom and tell you how i never trusted that you wouldn't hurt me? how you couldn't help it. i loved you too much. i gave you my everything - what else could you do but give it all back to me.
tell me how i should feel. heartbroken and desperate? should i cry, pure innocence and pain? act like i could have done something different, something to prevent this? i couldn't, i did everything. i wrote the love letters and handled distance with patience. i carried your baggage through security's examinations. i hid your scars under my dress and danced till the cotton massaged your stitches.
and i never asked for anything but a little attention.
i never needed money or entertainment.
and i truly believed this was my fairytale ending.
but then again, i'm young, and maybe naive.
yesterday's breakfast was 5 cigarettes, followed by a lunch of coffee, black. for dinner i had some m&m's and crawled into dessert with salt water tears.
i still have some energy left for fighting.
but i won't fight with you.
and i can only fight for us if you're in this with me.
but i feel your white flag whipping.
and i see your retreat.

i want to call you and cry.
hear your soothing masculinity.
feel the warmth of your body pressed against mine.
sometimes, i watch you from a distance. i watch you work and swim with the waves of people and seaweed wires. effective and efficient, with purpose.
and i love you.
you use to press me against secret back alleys. kiss me like a bass line, in steady undertones.  bring me back to the rhythm of our heart song. remind me of the lyrics.
you use to want me.
as if you waited your entire life for me to walk through the door.
and your eyes were passion fireworks lit excitement.
in those moments, you could have ruled the world.
then the sex stopped. and i had a fleeting feeling of what is happening. but i convinced myself we were saving ourselves for love making. that we needed time to reconnect.  that we were waiting for our souls to meet again. and that the touches would mean more, though now less.
but now i see how everything is different.
i've faded back to that girl in the distance.
i want to call you, so i can feel comfortable enough to start crying.
but i'll just break apart, lonely.
scratching dry eyes, bloody.

something better than before.
we expected something more.
the third cigarette with the same cup of coffee. and matt berninger sings soft, sad lullabies. we pull away still, protecting ourselves from each other. talk about colossal expectations. you were always weird, but i never had to hold you by the edges like i do now. i read the heart wrenching memoirs. of sex and lust and mix tapes. the ones in which the page turns easily, but painfully. and sometimes, i have to stop and slow my heart from breaking. and sometimes i have to remember what it feels like to be touched. then my insecurities are overwhelming. break my arms around the one i love. be forgiven by the time my lover comes. break my arms around my love.

sometimes, i feel like crying.  when his eyes are searching my insides, staring. they look frightened or questioning or reaching. he can see me, flailing, in my mind. he understands my hesitations and my insecurities. he can see me struggling.  and i feel like crying. because he loves me that deeply.
and sometimes we make love fully clothed. sometimes we spend days lost beneath the covers. sometimes he is closest when he is far away. sometimes i'm nice, and sometimes i'm mean, and he always looks at me  with bewilderment and honesty, through eternity. 
i believe i've met you before. i think i may have taught you something. i'll spend a lot of time listening. i think our souls have been constantly crossing. i forgot that this was how we planned to meet again. i'm glad you remember my memory.

Fucking Nervous.
Shaking Scared and INsecure.
I fear that I'm going to wake and this will all be some cruel dream. Some frightening scene where everyone is laughing. and pointing and snickering.  How did reality get to be? so beautiful and magical and everything I wanted.  I focused on this vision a thousand times over. I felt your fingers dance my spine line as I did the dishes.  The warmth of my cheeks when you let your eyes linger on me, as if I was the most amazing thing you have ever seen. And I believe. I believe that you really, truly, finally, have always, felt these things too. The way my ring gets tangled in your hair as you drive us to nowhere.  The song of my sighs from your waking bedroom.
But, sometimes, when you are away from me,
My heart frosts insecurities.