A twisted mirror
I met him five years ago at a party, he had a girlfriend at that time so nothing happened between us. But, five moths ago he looked for me (now being single) and we become so very close. He lives in another city, we had two dates on one day, on a weekend that I went there, but we talk every single day, all day long.
He is older than me, nice, funny, smart, likes movies as much as I do, likes the same kind of music, the same shows, we have everything in common. And somehow that is something I don’t like, I feel he’s more like a friend and I feel weird kissing him in front of others. Why? I don’t know. I guess everything is so easy, so obvious, so… mature with him. Even when we argue about something we are so gentle to each other that it’s boring.
I have this feeling he’s playing for me. He needs to be in a relationship, and if that means adapting to the other person, morphing into her, he’ll do it. He doesn’t want to be alone, and it scares me, asphyxiates me.
I feed myself from new things. If I’m with someone who’s almost like me, then I’m as lonely as I was before.
And I’m an idiot because I don’t know how to let him go without hurting him. I don’t want a relationship with him, I don’t see myself with someone as myself. It’s frightening and oh, so very boring.
I’ve come to the conclusion that this is becoming more and more a diary of (mostly failed) romantic conquests. Sorry if that bothers you, but it does helps me putting thoughts into words. And honestly, my head is a mess right now.
Since I’ve moved out I met three different guys, the cheater, the twin, and the perfect son in law; and funny thing is, I like them all.
I’ve already written about the cheater, but here are the other two:
He lies in such an honest way that hurts
He lies every two words and smiles, he cheats and hides, he doesn’t care, he’s obnoxiously cocky but makes me laugh about it, he kisses sweetly, whispers in my ear, he makes me bristle with just one touch and I can’t forget the way he smells even when he never uses perfume. I hate him and the counterproductive fact that I want him so badly.
I like to convince myself that I can have fun too, that I’ll be strong enough to go on after he uses and dump me, because he will; but I know deep down that I’ll cry everytime he leaves my bed or doesn’t keep me up from my nap with silly messages.
His favourite movie is The Clockware Orange and I never told him, but nothing represents him more than a douche who goes around hurting people and gets away with it, maybe he’s just a kid who hasn’t reached the part when he gets fixed yet.
I told him I can’t do it, guilt is such a motherfucker, I wish he had some. There’s a stupid twisted part of me who wishes he cared enough about her not to cheat on her. Just to be sure he’s not that much of a bad person, to prove he has feelings after all.
It kills me to hear people from his same state talk, the same tune that used to say “you drive me crazy”; to see cars like his, to listen Anthem of my Heart, to go out and see her, dancing, so apparently ignorant of it all, and without him.
What are you doing without him?
I still get home every day after work hoping to find him at my door, but he never is. He’ll never leave her and I know this makes no sense.
Things have been wild around here, my life has taken a major turn in these last few months, and when I say major, I mean enormous.
I’ve moved out alone, I have a king size bed and I sleep in the middle.
I really hate cooking, all I do is to turn the oven on and let the meal cook on its own.
I enjoy how silent everything is around me, and how I can talk to myself without worrying of getting caught.
I go out every weekend. On Sundays my friends come and I make muffins or waffles. I like Sundays now.
I’ve gotten a proposal to travel and work in another country for at least 6 months, and I’ll do it. I’m determined.
I’ve met so many people, I like most of them, 99% of them to be precise.
I’ve been sad these last few days, I thought it wouldn’t happen again (you know I always do)
I sigh a lot.
And everything ends in you,
the kisses, every party
and the root that drinks my sorrows,
my feverish habit of looking for you,
my days and this hunger of you.
Of you. Of you. Of you.
I want a summer dress made from this pattern
If I let a guy think he’s using me, am I being smart or just extremely stupid?
Ok, let’s skip the slutty part, there’s no room for that kind of shit in this debate.