I've got a lot of
Going through one on my notepads from 6 (?!) years ago, I found this letter I wrote to the Mister. I have no idea of when... maybe in 2010? 2009? 2008? Our crisis go way back, almost as long as our relationship goes. And whilst it's kind of odd to post this today, since it's the (new) boy's birthday, I want to throw the original out. So I'll just leave this here.
Yes, it's very personal. So don't read it if you don't care. And if you do, please do contextualize. Back then was a time when I thought it was more comfortable to be owned than to be responsible, and I did not capitalize my "i"'s.
I'm sorry. But I hurt.
I need to be made love to. It's been so very long, long over two years anyone has made love to me.
Sex is good. The Fucking is great. But at times... At times like these, when i hurt, when every sore is open, i need to be made love to. Fucking, just for the sake of it, only makes the pain more vivid, more intense.
Sometimes i hurt. i am aching now, my memory revived by those who surround me... those who love each other in a way that has me sobbing in the ladies room, in envy and self pity, for i miss being touched.
Touch me. Kiss me til i moan and beg You to work Your way down. Do You even know my body, how i look down there? Kiss me, lick me, bite me, finger me, hold me... till i can take no more and beg You once again... make love to me, pretty pretty please.
And just then... just then You will firmly but gently, pin me down with Your manhood. for a moment, You pause and kiss me again, waiting. Finally, i pull You further in, and You know that it won't hurt even if You push harder and harder, thrusting until we are both exhausted.
Maybe this is a part of me You would rather ignore. Is it too vanilla for You, to love me this way? Can't You see it is to love i have submitted, not to You? True, both are the same, intertwined as Siamese in a freak show, conjoined by the head (or was it the pelvis?). i am Your slave, as You are my Master, and that is why, oh just why it is from You i long the love to come from... not from just anyone. Not from anyone else. Not anymore.
i repeat myself. i hurt on the inside. And I'm not very good at concealing it. Why should i? Shouldn't i give my whole to You, pain, love and all? But i am drifting away from the true objective of all this... Please, no longer ignore my longing for You. It can't be healthy to live this way.
i am afraid. i fear that if i am not loved, You may lose me. i am, honest. After all, no matter how much i love You, i still cannot love myself enough for both of Us.
This hurts. Cure me. Please, come closer now? Love me, gentle and sweet. Please, don't just shut off when i turn over and cry, for it is Your arms i long for. Kiss me. Embrace me. Console me. After all, these days, You are the one i hurt for.
And please, please, pretty pretty please...
Won't You make love to me?
But suddenly You come home and bring in a cold chill along? Do you even care to see me hurt? I hate my heart for whispering to me that You make it be so, and find it amusing. i just don't want to believe You're like all those other guys who hurt me before. Are You?
It was the one year anniversary of our very ugly breakup this week. I guess I needed the clean up around here, for my mental health. Sure, my sinuses suffer. But my room is as pink as it's ever been (and will get even pinker once I make my curtains), and my heart feels lighter with things in place.
He tweeted this, this week. I wonder if he meant me...
I keep on living. Living, learning, fighting. And pinning stuff. It's kind of my thing, you know?