Let me preface this by saying I am drunk. And so incredibly into you.
I recognize that you are with someone else. I don’t understand why but, as I only know a small part of your life, I’m sure you have your reasons. Maybe she gives incredible head, maybe she is always there when you need her, maybe she needs you and that makes you feel whole. It doesn’t matter to me, in the grand scheme of things – she is with you, I am not, that’s what I know for sure.
Today you joked about the fact that I’ve already dumped you twice. The irony and honesty in that is not lost on me. See it as you will. From my perspective, I have wanted you so hard that I could no longer stand the jealousy and frustration. Dumped? Okay. I see myself as worth more than being a second hand text-lover. I want all of you, I don’t share.
Then every time I see this woman you are with (whom you don’t claim to love so much but I only assume you do because why else would you be with her?) and she is so… not right for you in the way that I am. (I have no interest in being catty, no matter how jealous she makes me feel.)
Is she good to you? Is she kind? Does she turn you on and make you feel whole? Does she make you feel needed and worthy and wonderful and sexy and important? Would I? Is she enough? Would I be?
I have no answer to these questions. You are the only one who knows for sure. I know how I feel – I feel this fire between us, this passion, electricity. Have I known this for sure? Do I trust that it won’t burn out? Do I believe whole-heartedly that it is sustainable? Do I wish we could try?
No. No. No. YES.
What does that matter, though? I am only one piece of the puzzle. I recognize the life changes you would have to make. I understand your hesitancy to do so on a whim. Again, I cannot make these decisions for you. I wish you would give us a chance but I also understand why you do not.
A life with me would come with consequences. You would be required to perform sexual favours (although they would be reciprocated with gusto); you would need to spend time with me, to make me feel wanted and important. Maybe she doesn’t ask that much of you. Maybe she asks more. I don’t know.
I DON’T KNOW. And, so, it doesn’t matter.
I will sit here with my own perception, wondering why but accepting that it is not within my power to change your heart, your desires. You seem to want me, too, though. That’s the part I just don’t get.
What did my mother teach me?
Mine is not to question why. Mine is but to do and die.
Never made sense, to be honest. My mother is weird.