The Game

When did my lines begin to show? When did the wear kick in. My skin, the smoothness, already leaving me. My face, the softness, gets harsher each morning. I see women, .... I'm beginning to look more like them. Mature, sophisticated. Slang for old, worn, well used. Trade in seems like such a practical idea. Do you want the sexy new model or the old reliable one? Even in my condition, I know what my choice would be. A close second. A good back up. A broken in version of you wish you could afford. It's not so bad now, but its getting there. Slowly inching along to something you and I both will no longer want. Dim the lights, angle this way, get my good side. Desperate attempts to disguise what is gradually becoming the truth.  A sad girl. I see a sad girl. One who is constantly watching everyone around her, hoping and molding herself into what she thinks she should be. A sad girl, never happy or content with what she has... or had. Slinking into the sidelines as she is to scared or embarrased to still stand out. How will she survive. How will she survive? She will turn to the thing that comforts and ages her the most. Quiet self destruction. Liquid determination and let down. Through those blurry eyes, her skin gets softer, the edges get smoother, the years get slightly smudged away. Viewing herself through her nightly skewed vision is what she lives off of. Living that pretend life where she is still glowing, Radiant! Oh how she once shined. These thoughts bring tears and smiles to her face. Eyes closed now, she cant even face herself. Its so much easier to fade back to those glory days. The radiant past. The times she only sparkled. The times she will cling to, pick from, and create the imagined destiny of all young girls. She can close out the roughed up exterior, the soft belly, the limp shoulders, the excess 'comfort' packing on her body.... She can shed it in this moment, when she forgets the now and makes up her own. Happily, living that life. Ever, youthful and elegant. After... after all, this is her vision.  

Oh yea, I remember that.

That feeling.... The feeling a girl has when the man she loves, adores and trusts in, wraps his arms tightly around her... when he pulls her close and she rests her head gently, and heavily on his chest. This moment, the feeling, that lets her know that THIS is it. She is safe and loved and cared for. She let's go. The one semblance of true emotion that you hardly ever find. And here it is. THE feeling.

I know that feeling. And it's mine :)

SC

So here we are. Me on the floor, you on the couch. 

I don't know what this is, or what it means, or if it even means anything. In my mind, in my head, in my heart and hopes, it means something. In my world, in my life... it probably does not. But its a stream of feelings. Its building and building inside me. I feel like exploding. I have my game face on. At least I'm trying. But I'm starting to think maybe my truth is showing. As I type this my heart is racing. Its beating hard and heavy. Its caused such a stir in me that my stomach its aching. It's actually aching. And swirling and flipping and anxious. 

Should I bite my tongue? Should I speak my heart? Is my mind playing tricks? I don't have an answer. I'm not completely sure of the question. But this is what I know. I thought I loved you before. I feel like I could love you again. It seems logical and improbable that we are a perfect match. I want to crawl over to you, on the couch, I want to curl around you. I want to remember and bask in our bodies wrapping perfectly around one another. I want to miss you. I want to long for you and I want you to curl your life around mine. I want to get tangled in each others imperfections and worries and struggles and hearts. I want something from you. This much I know. I want something from you, and for you, that spans beyond sweaty bodies rolling between the sheets. 

I need to hear your inner workings. I need to see your wheels turning. I need something from you. I am insatiable. The answers you have given me, that I thought I had to have, I got. And now I want more. I am insatiable. Why do I have this constant, urgent hunger for your affection? Why do I put so much over productive thought into it? The things I can't be sure of... the 'Do I want you?' the 'Does he want me?' .. the 'Is this right for either of us?'. It drives me to the borders of true insanity. How will I ever know these answers... You never speak. You only let out tiny pieces of the something I want.  And I'm too blinded with hope to even decipher these from black to white. 

So, here we are. Me on the floor, and you on the couch. And I'm numbing my hurt and sharpening my wit with each sip of wine. My self medication and therapy. Instead of knowing, or letting go, I ache. I ache to crawl to you and wrap my ache around you. 

Maybe it will wake you up.