I belong to you.
I belong to you.
I belong to you.
Let this be my pulse, my guide, my inner fire. Let it both calm my heart and inflame my cunt, and let it give solace to my mind when it fills with doubts, fears, longing, and hurts.
I belong to you.
Let me keep this phrase at the seat of my gut at all times, that it may remind me of the depth of our relationship and the mountains we’ve crossed – together – to arrive here.
I am yours.
Let me soften my white-knuckled clutch around my vulnerabilities and desires; let me not question their validity and place in my life – in our lives.
Let this simple truth – that we belong to each other and are indelibly a part of each other’s bodies and souls – envelop me in its warmth.
Let me be open.
Let me see clarity.
Let me find balance to this intensity and fire.
Let the truth of our mutual and unequal possession not frighten me away, that I can fully embrace the wholeness that I feel. Right now, in this moment.
Written 04/30/2010 while I waited to board my flight…
I’m writing this from San Francisco International Airport, but who knows when I will actually be able to post it. I’m still appalled that this airport doesn’t offer free wireless.
I don’t know what it is about this particular morning, or this particular airport, but I’m feeling inexplicably moody. Suddenly and without warning, thoughts of Tim are flooding my mind. It still happens every so often (though less and less frequently) that I get sudden flares of residual anger surrounding this man. And with each instance I have to close my eyes and just let it take its course. And always, the same questions. Why? How could he? How could I be so naïve? So stupid?
And each time I get angry at myself. Three years gone, and still he can affect me like this. Three years, yet I can still remember, with vivid detail, every feature of his face. Sometimes I think he will always be there, a hidden ghost haunting my every relationship, questioning the trust I place in each person. After all, I’ve more or less determined that my kink is a large, necessary part of my being and will always be a prominent part of my life, and Tim will always be the man with whom I first explored kink.
Human minds have this annoying propensity for remembering milestones and landmarks, personal or otherwise.
And then there was the instance, after many months of silence following my departure, where I got a cryptic, late-night IM from him. It said, simply: you still don’t know what you’re missing do you.
I felt a clutch of fear from reading this, not knowing how to interpret the message. But I never responded. Remembering, now, I still feel that clutch of fear.
Still … I have come a long way, I think. I no longer question my self worth or wonder whether or not I ever meant anything to him. I no longer wonder whether my absence burned as much of a hole in his life as his did in mine. The wound has closed, and only the faintest of scars, it seems, remains.
So perhaps I have just brushed against that scar this morning, reminding me that it is even there. And no – I still don’t know what it is he feels I’m missing. It certainly is not him, and I am content never to see or hear of him again. If he means to imply that I am lacking a more fulfilling life for having left him – well, the mere thought is incredulous and scoff-worthy. As a friend and confidant stressed repeatedly throughout this period of time, the best revenge I can have is to live a fulfilling, rich life and to create my own happiness.
I think, so far, I’m heading down the right path.
I’m dating a fuckin’ street racer.* I never ever expected this to happen. Ever.
But damn, I do love watching him work his gear shift.
Things sure are getting exciting in the city. SR, I’ll call him, and I are well on our way to exploring each other’s sexual deviations. Glory of glories, one day when we only had a little time together, we were teasing each other verbally (mostly), and he insinuated that he would love to just tie me up and have his way with me.
And then there was the night he was rubbing my back and gave me a playful spank inbetween rubs – testing the waters, no doubt. And that time he took a handful of hair to pull my head back for a kiss; and, and, and…
Oh, I am going to have fun this summer.
The fact that I am jobless again doesn’t change that sentiment one bit.
* By night, of course. He has a cubicle job by day, heehee. And he is definitely not what you and I imagine a street racer to look like, which is probably a Vin Diesel derivative thanks to the movies.
We watched this in my Advanced Animation class yesterday. Poor kitty!
Using Stop-motion techniques.
I’ve been trying. Fuck, but I’ve been trying so hard. I suppose I need to just let things run their course, and there’s nothing I can do to expedite it. Even the anger, once it dies down, leaves only a dull empty husk in its place. The anger that fueled and nourished me through the first stage…well, it betrays in its ability to heal…
Enjoying memories of the sex we had wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t associate sex so closely with emotion, or the ties I thought we had.
(He’s a fucking lying, cheating bastard, remember?)
I know, I know…
(Forget him. He’s less than worthless to you.)
I know…and yet…
…To remember him holding me, as we stood overlooking a waterfront…
…Him reaching for my hand while he drove, kissing the back of it…
…To realize how easily that deceptive 4-letter word slid off his tongue, only to dissipate in the air before me…
…To think that I revealed my deepest darkest secrets to him, who kept guarded his own, blacker secret.
…One who felt no remorse in blatantly lying to me…
A year of memories, and they are all covered now in sooty black ash. There is still so much I don’t understand.
It fucking hurts, and there’s nothing I can do. It hurts that I cannot let go of the devotion I felt, for one who has found me dispensable.
Perhaps I am a threat?
Or perhaps I was never worth enough to him to be one.
I’ve lost my anchor, and yet he continues to invade my privacy, my senses, my head. My heart still skips when I see a large dark truck drive by.
(I will always give you an out.)
Where? I can’t find it.
And these are the kinds of mindless, agonizing thoughts that makes me wonder if it is worth continuing to write here, if this is all I can write.
Misery loves company. And yet the more miserable I feel, the more I retreat into isolation, so I don’t drag anyone else down with me. No one deserves that.
My emotions continue this wild oscillation between extremes, and something’s going to give soon. I hope it is just a low point that will fade away soon, because I do not want these black thoughts. I thought I had gotten past that in high school.