Friday, November 18, 2011


Why is it that you do not make my heart beat faster now that we're together?

I swear we are two different people from last spring - when I was so excited to hear your voice, when I missed you when you didn't call or text me, when just the mere ringing of the phone filled me with anticipation and imagining it was you calling.

You touch me and I shiver - from disgust. I force myself to reach out and touch you, caress you, but inside my senses are revolting.

You're not who I have built up to be in my mind. You do not sound like him. You do not smell like him. You do not speak like him. You do not feel like him. Him. The you who I thought I love.

When I take my clothes off, I feel shame. My body looks good, my skin feels smooth, but I feel shame when you touch me. When you kiss me, I want to vomit. When I down the cocktail, it is to cleanse my mouth and to blur my senses so I could have physical contact with you.

So when you have said that it would make things difficult for both of us, inside I rejoice. When I withdraw my hands from your neck, I rejoice. When I grab my clothes and cover my body, I rejoice. You are still holding my arm as I walk away to put my clothes on. You think you may have offended me, but fireworks go inside my head. I feel the elation that the protesters showed on TV upon learning that Ghadaffi has died. That is how bad it is being with you. That is my measuring stick being there alone with you.

I laugh so loud after I get out of the room and close the door. Good thing the pool is only a few feet away. I am still laughing when I dive into the water, and water enters my mouth and nose, my head aches but I am happy. Ghadaffi's dead, and I don't love you.

I feel so happy that after two laps, I jump and pump my fist up in the air!

"Yes! Yesssss!!"

I think that you know how I feel. But you don't want to admit it to yourself or to me. I love you in my own distorted way, only I want that thirty thousand miles between us. I love the idea of loving you, the you I knew forty years ago. You are no longer that you. And it is that you that I hold dear and won't forget. I'm sorry that I came for you but instead found somebody new.

Thank you for setting me free. Please don't call me anymore.

No comments:

Post a Comment