Work Text:
you,
you’re confusing. really. i don’t think i’m naturally dense (although i have my doubts) but you have me wrapped around and around and i can’t figure out how we got here - me hanging on the end of a string, you and your halo on the other end…
it was a risk, moving in with you. i didn’t know you at all. you didn’t know me. two strangers brought together by chance, entertaining an experiment. we’re obviously compatible at some level, but i suppose it’s not the right one.
we’ve been sharing the futon for a month; you press against my back. you nibble on the shell of my ear. you blow breaths on my neck just to make me squirm. you move closer / you move me closer. i play with your hair. i hold your hand. i bite your arm. you come home and hug me for twenty seconds like humans are supposed to. you give me a shoulder massage for no reason. you hold my neck delicately in your hands. you cook dinner and i talk. i don’t wait for you to move before i reach up around you for the salt on the top shelf. you dance to embarrass me in the grocery store.
we are tender. is this not enough?
i suppose i am also tender with those i don’t want romance with, but it doesn’t feel this intentional.
i am someone who needs space, but you are locked down like a safe. you disappear, unaccountable to me, but you leave your location switched on. the mystery draws me in and makes me unpalatable to myself. why do i want to know where you are? why do i care? why do i crave your attention to this degree?
you say you mean 98% of what you say. but then why do you joke that we are more than friends? that you would have sex with me? that you’d be happier coming home to me than the girl you went on four dates with and really liked? but then also that we are platonic life partners? that you have no one to impress? where is the line between these two realities that are currently coexisting tremulously?
your anxiety is getting the best of you. your anxiety is taking you over. i said that smoking cigarettes was a deal-breaker but here i am breathing in the scent from your hair. are you putting on a face when i’m around or truly relaxed? what is the truth? how am i to know?
me: i like a challenge. i like the chase. i like the delicate / exciting / tense back and forth dance of two bodies orbiting around each other like planets. also me: i worry. i’m like a bad unnecessary mother. i crave small tokens of clarity. i overanalyze everything - what does it mean? and in what context? i will float and flex like water to remain invulnerable, but i crave vulnerability in others.
you: independent as all hell. gives to others. also you: doesn’t keep enough for yourself. spread too thin, you don’t take your own oxygen before giving it to anyone else. you suffocate by your own hand. everyone will be surprised. if/when, i will be broken but asking myself - what did i fail to do to help you? but it’s not my duty. at least, you don’t make me feel like it’s wanted. i would care for you wholly but your quills are up and i can’t get in.
tender tender tender / distance yourself. where is the balance? i crave physical touch, i need it, i have none through any other medium because i am alone. do i crave you and carve out space for you solely because i’m lonely? you didn’t sleep with me last night and i was restless and troubled. i will regret that tomorrow.
i’m independent. i can unzip my own dresses, use a chair to reach, change my own lightbulbs. i have given myself my own touch and value for years. and yet here i am feeling smashed to bits because you aren’t reciprocating how i’d like. how do i get that strong girl back?
i come up with scenarios where you are putting on a mask, creating a narrative to protect yourself because you don’t want to get hurt by me just like i am putting on a mask so i don’t get hurt by you. but you’ve already hurt me and my mental gymnastics are unrealistic. i need distance but i don’t want it. i need clarity but i can’t find it. where do we go from here?