Love lorn writings

how i wanted you so much.

The way that I cared for you and loved you. I wonder if you have shut me out completely. If you never think of me or want me. For the first time in a long time, I know, I do not want you back.

We broke up January 25th, and we stopped speaking in March. March 10th in fact. I like to think that this drastic stop in communication brings you joy. That you are at peace and you are happy. I will never know though.

They say in the modern day that there are less concerns of someone going missing. That we have it better than the sailor wives who pined and wanted for their men on the edges of cliffs and on beach shores.

I do not think so though.

I think it has gotten worse.

I picture myself going up to you, asking you if you are happy. If cutting me from your life has made you happy.

I think that you say, 'Yes' and that brings me relief. In my worse moments you ask it back of me. If my life is happier without him. Then i scoff, and I tell you, 'Does it matter? Does it matter that maybe my life is better, or isnt? You never wanted to hear from me again.'

Every woman knows what this means. That you are not pretty enough. That your pictures and words are not enough. That your body, I know it is mine, and so I can leave off passions for another time. I can leave it off and you will still be there. I can reject you and you will still be there.

Fuck you.

Fuck you because I still feel a desperate and clawing passion within my body for you. A desire to feed on your breath and your sweat. Something that cannot be sated by reading, writing, or watching movies. Something that fatigue cannot have its way with.

Fuck you that you do not feel this way about me. That you are not hungry for me in the same way.

Let it die then. If you will not feed it.

Starve it. Starve it until it is comatose. Let it die.

Let it die and see you try to revive it.

When it is already blue in the lips and cold to the touch, a cruel and twisted hopeful smile on its face.

I know I should not feel anger at his rejecting a chance to hold my body in his arms and make love to me, but I do. I do not feel mercy and I do not feel generous.

I should feel shame, that my photos and words were not enough to tempt him to come over. I should feel disappointed and demure now. I feel think I should feel ashamed that my lusts have shown its true colors and that my desire played my hand.

I do not though.

I feel rage that he should reject my body tonight. When the moon is out and the weather is perfect. When no one, but us, would be in my apartment and we would moan and whimper without any impediments. When the night before I dropped him off at home, and did so early, so he could go to bed.

I feel like a dragon.

I know it is unreasonable but I still feel it.

It is absolutely within his right, but I am angry. Angry that my efforts over and over again at seduction do not work. That I have lost my spark. That I am not desirable enough. That I am not pretty enough. That I do not know how to take good pictures of myself. My heels are not high enough. My hair isn't long enough. I do not have enough poetry in my fingers to inspire his passions.

I am pathetic. Only I am not.

And that he is practically a breath away

And I cannot see him

Good

‘I love you’ meant something to him

But it meant more to me

It always had

Even as this new love blushes in my heart

I wonder what ‘I love you’