Oct 2014
It wasn't the first time, nor the last. But as you laid against him, feeling tiny puffs of haggard breath against your eyelashes. You thought of this:
"You are always worth the wait"
Any other man would have just stared. Like a poster that reads 'MISSING' on a small town bulletin board. Jaw dropped and eyes wide. But he just smiled, and you smiled back and then he kissed you.
Not for the first time, and not for the last.
Why is this so much easier now? Why does this feel so much better now? Because it's so new and new is so good?
No expectations: NEW!
No Strings Attached: NEW!
No *******: NEW!
This time, you weren't holding back. You weren't holding out. Hoping or harboring. Waiting or putting in. You were brand NEW! A NEW woman!! And in that moment, where you laid next to him. His back to yours, his hand rested on his neck, between his shoulder and his ear. In that moment: he was new to you too. A stranger. But someone you could see knowing you intuitively. In every haggard breath.
"Don't think past those haggard breaths." You reminded yourself. "Like the way they sound, the way they feel, but remember, haggard breaths will turn to deep, calm, relaxed breaths."
Breaths that say:
"Your body was busy... and now...you...are....tired"
As if it's a surprise.
But it was so onset.
I guess NEW was the surprise.
And it didn't suit him.
For some men, it's easy to flip the switch. But that man would be far too familiar, far too old. recycled.
You scoff at the words;
"would" "could" "should"
"We might as well just say what we really mean."
You ******* failed me.
I'm ******* disappointed.
I'm ******* sad.
And then you thought back to today's trip to the local Grocery Store.
You thought of white suburban mothers in yoga pants, walking down rows and rows of frozen dinners.
And you thought about what YOU wanted.
A NEW man who will stare at you blankly while he ***** you? Almost catatonic?
Or someone recycled? Someone who looks in you, instead of at you. Someone who falls asleep afterwards? Someone who can flip that switch?
It's worth it. It's worth having someone capable of really seeing you. Into your bones & your blood. Someone who really gets you.
Whatever that means.
It's worth the wait. The lack of sleep.
You may be ******* miserable at times. You may never know where you're going or where you've been or where you are or who you are to him. But at least you'll die knowing someone saw all of you.
This doesn't mean he loved all of you. Or even that he loved you at all. But for that recycled man, you shed every skin. You open yourself wide. You let him climb inside.
Your heart isn't uncharted.
It's just unmapped.
You don't know what he wants. And sometimes it makes your blood boil. But it comes to a cool when you're reminded that RIGHT NOW, he wants YOU. And the feeling, is mutual.
But who knows what tomorrow holds? Or what happens twenty seconds from now? There's always the possibility that he'll change his mind. Theres aways the possibility you'll change yours. There's always the possibility that it will destroy you. But you are addicted to possibly.
So no *******.
Now, "No *******" doesn't mean you get to pour your own insecurities into others. It doesn't mean smacking the word "honesty" over your opinions.
"I'm just trying to be honest with you-"
"I wish someone was this honest with me when I was your age-"
None of that condescending *******.
It means you're real. More than just skin and bones. You're a pounding heart & a thumping brain.
Yes. There's always that possibility that you'll be waiting forever. Sprawled out for your recycled man and everyone else to see.
But wouldn't you rather lay in bed awake next to the recycled man (even if it's for just one night) exposed?
Than to NEW man for the rest of your life? The NEW & exciting? The NEW and frightening? The NEW man who never really understood you. Who you could never really talk to. That never really loved you.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He picked me up in front of a family of statues under a green isling. The side of his car reminded me of crinkled paper. Or mashed potatoes. I stepped inside with this pie eating grin on my face.
"Good morning" he said, smiling back.
It was afternoon, almost evening now. I closed the door behind me and he started down the street. We hadn't picked a place for dinner yet, so we drove aimlessly around in circles for a bit.
"What happened to your car?" I asked.
His smile was quickly wiped away. I could tell it was a sensitive subject. Which meant it was his fault.
"Ran a red light" he responded, in a mumble.
I bit my lip and looked out the window for a long while. He clicked on the radio. Drum and bass blaring, I could feel the vibrations shake my feet. We pulled into a parking spot in a part of town I wasn't quite familiar with, and stepped out. Locking the doors, he made his way around the car, paid the meter and headed down the street, motioning at me to follow.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What else was I to do? I was two steps away from fully falling in love with this man. I did what any sensible woman would do: I ran for the hills. I wasn't going to be "that girl". The girl who got her heart broken, again and again and again. I had been down that road (many times) and all it did was make me look weak. I refused. I refused to be the weak one. I refused to be the one on her knees, begging, pleading. Pathetic.
I packed up my things. They fit in a small paper sack. Tooth brush, comb, respect. I wouldn't let him keep any of it. It was my turn to be strong. My turn to leave. I knew he wasn't broken hearted, and he wasn't going to be. But that would have been something, wouldn't it? To be the heartbreaker, just this once? That would have been a sight to see. A thing to feel.
I rehearsed what I was going to say. Said it aloud. In the shower. While making breakfast. Over and over. But when it came time, I put it in a text message like the heartless, cowardly ***** I was. He deserved better. We both did.
"You are always worth the wait"
Any other man would have just stared. Like a poster that reads 'MISSING' on a small town bulletin board. Jaw dropped and eyes wide. But he just smiled, and you smiled back and then he kissed you.
Not for the first time, and not for the last.
Why is this so much easier now? Why does this feel so much better now? Because it's so new and new is so good?
No expectations: NEW!
No Strings Attached: NEW!
No *******: NEW!
This time, you weren't holding back. You weren't holding out. Hoping or harboring. Waiting or putting in. You were brand NEW! A NEW woman!! And in that moment, where you laid next to him. His back to yours, his hand rested on his neck, between his shoulder and his ear. In that moment: he was new to you too. A stranger. But someone you could see knowing you intuitively. In every haggard breath.
"Don't think past those haggard breaths." You reminded yourself. "Like the way they sound, the way they feel, but remember, haggard breaths will turn to deep, calm, relaxed breaths."
Breaths that say:
"Your body was busy... and now...you...are....tired"
As if it's a surprise.
But it was so onset.
I guess NEW was the surprise.
And it didn't suit him.
For some men, it's easy to flip the switch. But that man would be far too familiar, far too old. recycled.
You scoff at the words;
"would" "could" "should"
"We might as well just say what we really mean."
You ******* failed me.
I'm ******* disappointed.
I'm ******* sad.
And then you thought back to today's trip to the local Grocery Store.
You thought of white suburban mothers in yoga pants, walking down rows and rows of frozen dinners.
And you thought about what YOU wanted.
A NEW man who will stare at you blankly while he ***** you? Almost catatonic?
Or someone recycled? Someone who looks in you, instead of at you. Someone who falls asleep afterwards? Someone who can flip that switch?
It's worth it. It's worth having someone capable of really seeing you. Into your bones & your blood. Someone who really gets you.
Whatever that means.
It's worth the wait. The lack of sleep.
You may be ******* miserable at times. You may never know where you're going or where you've been or where you are or who you are to him. But at least you'll die knowing someone saw all of you.
This doesn't mean he loved all of you. Or even that he loved you at all. But for that recycled man, you shed every skin. You open yourself wide. You let him climb inside.
Your heart isn't uncharted.
It's just unmapped.
You don't know what he wants. And sometimes it makes your blood boil. But it comes to a cool when you're reminded that RIGHT NOW, he wants YOU. And the feeling, is mutual.
But who knows what tomorrow holds? Or what happens twenty seconds from now? There's always the possibility that he'll change his mind. Theres aways the possibility you'll change yours. There's always the possibility that it will destroy you. But you are addicted to possibly.
So no *******.
Now, "No *******" doesn't mean you get to pour your own insecurities into others. It doesn't mean smacking the word "honesty" over your opinions.
"I'm just trying to be honest with you-"
"I wish someone was this honest with me when I was your age-"
None of that condescending *******.
It means you're real. More than just skin and bones. You're a pounding heart & a thumping brain.
Yes. There's always that possibility that you'll be waiting forever. Sprawled out for your recycled man and everyone else to see.
But wouldn't you rather lay in bed awake next to the recycled man (even if it's for just one night) exposed?
Than to NEW man for the rest of your life? The NEW & exciting? The NEW and frightening? The NEW man who never really understood you. Who you could never really talk to. That never really loved you.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He picked me up in front of a family of statues under a green isling. The side of his car reminded me of crinkled paper. Or mashed potatoes. I stepped inside with this pie eating grin on my face.
"Good morning" he said, smiling back.
It was afternoon, almost evening now. I closed the door behind me and he started down the street. We hadn't picked a place for dinner yet, so we drove aimlessly around in circles for a bit.
"What happened to your car?" I asked.
His smile was quickly wiped away. I could tell it was a sensitive subject. Which meant it was his fault.
"Ran a red light" he responded, in a mumble.
I bit my lip and looked out the window for a long while. He clicked on the radio. Drum and bass blaring, I could feel the vibrations shake my feet. We pulled into a parking spot in a part of town I wasn't quite familiar with, and stepped out. Locking the doors, he made his way around the car, paid the meter and headed down the street, motioning at me to follow.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What else was I to do? I was two steps away from fully falling in love with this man. I did what any sensible woman would do: I ran for the hills. I wasn't going to be "that girl". The girl who got her heart broken, again and again and again. I had been down that road (many times) and all it did was make me look weak. I refused. I refused to be the weak one. I refused to be the one on her knees, begging, pleading. Pathetic.
I packed up my things. They fit in a small paper sack. Tooth brush, comb, respect. I wouldn't let him keep any of it. It was my turn to be strong. My turn to leave. I knew he wasn't broken hearted, and he wasn't going to be. But that would have been something, wouldn't it? To be the heartbreaker, just this once? That would have been a sight to see. A thing to feel.
I rehearsed what I was going to say. Said it aloud. In the shower. While making breakfast. Over and over. But when it came time, I put it in a text message like the heartless, cowardly ***** I was. He deserved better. We both did.
