I hope he laughs a lot.
I say this instead of ‘I hope he’s happy’ because happiness is so cliche. It’s eluded me for the majority of my life. Instead, I’ve been filled with a satiating contentedness. An appreciation and acceptance that this is life. What is will be and fighting it is tiring and mostly useless as an end result.
I say this to the future man I’ll love. Because no matter how hard I’ve tried to convince myself to give up, I can’t. I simply and wholeheartedly cannot. I am a human. Humans are social, they are not meant to be alone. Loneliness is the end. It’s the darkness that you look into but see no light. It’s the Friday nights home alone for the 3rd week in a row and all you crave is human interaction. And yet, loneliness can still present itself as an uninvited guest even when you’re not particularly alone. It’s the dark shadow that has a tendency to follow you, and it torments.
I hope he laughs a lot. I can almost hear it. Almost. His laugh. Hearty and contagious. And I hope one day it is I who musters this glorious sound from his chest to his vocal chords to my ears and then to my heart.
And I hope he’s my best friend. And I hope we can talk about anything, and not take things too seriously. I hope I look at him and see goodness. I hope I touch him and feel the kind of love that radiates from my fingertips all the way into my very bones.
I hope I wake up next to him and feel like there’s no where else I’d rather be in the world than beside him.
Yes, I decided I’m not giving up. I’m changing my recipe for loneliness.
Let’s talk about a man
His scent as I bury my face in his neck
The taste of his skin as I gently bite down
It’s primal, this need to nip and bite and taste
How about the way his smooth back feels as it runs under my soft hands, feeling… always feeling
Greedy and alive
His lower back, taut and ready and willing
To be touched and caressed
And the energy, shared between us as our bodies touch in the most intimate way
Feeling things we won’t forget until next time
Saying things we’ll forget tomorrow
Touch me, with more than just your hands
It leaves scars in it’s wake
It leaves death and destruction
Like a tidal wave it comes forth and then recedes
Shattered pieces of battered people
Sadness breeds loneliness
It nurtures dark thoughts
It breathes yet it isn’t alive
This makes it hard to accept
Like a bad parent, it leaves one day
Without happiness a purgatory begins
Somewhere between sadness and…
I used to cry a lot. A lot more than I do now. I remember when it first happened, I cried every day. All the time. Little things would trigger the emotions and they’d come spilling down my face, little salty pools of sadness. But after some time went by, it got easier. The wounds started feeling more like tender little scabs. And eventually, those little tender scabs turned into scars that didn’t hurt anymore unless I really tried to make them. And eventually I stopped trying to make them. I stood up and decided that I didn’t want to be sad anymore. So I succeeded. I succeeded in so many ways. In finding out what I wanted and sticking to it. I succeeded in finding a respect for myself that is so high, I could never lose it. I found my morals. I got my life back. From a pit of depression and darkness rose this amazing creature, almost unrecognizable. But to me, I’m as beautiful as I have ever been. But I am also very much alone with myself. They say that you have to learn to love yourself before you can expect anyone else to love you. Well here I am. I love myself and sometimes if I wonder if it’s too much. I gave all my love and everything else to the last one, what if I don’t have any more to give to someone else?
I feel like I got my life back, but only half my heart with it. There are still nights when I am lying in bed completely sober and I suddenly miss him so much my heart hurts. The sobs hurt my chest and I feel it slowly start shrinking. How can you miss a man who did you so wrong? Perhaps it is not him that I miss so much, perhaps it was how I felt when I was with him that I miss so much. I miss looking over to the other side of my bed and feeling like the luckiest person in the world to love someone so much, and have them love you the same way. I miss the amazing emotional attachment I felt to another person. Even though you have friends and family, you can still feel completely alone when you’re in your bed at night. So to end this, I guess I am just still waiting for the rest of my heart to come back. I am still waiting for the man who wants my love and the one to give me his back. I want someone who gets my stupid jokes and doesn’t care that I say “fuck” too much, and who appreciates it when I do nice things for him. I want a man who can’t get enough of me, and I him. I think I want a man who doesn’t exist. And that’s the recipe for loneliness.