If anything, I have learnt that people will always disappoint. They will come and go, they will break promises.
And no matter how much you tell yourself, “what did you expect?”, you know that a small naive part of you didn’t expect this.
Some days I get angry with people in general, but the truth is I just miss them.
“How could you do it?”
Do you really think I wanted to? Sleep with a woman I didn’t know, tend to their physical and emotional needs, detach my self? I have good reasons for the drama I choose – reasons you will never know of nor understand.
You see, there is no such thing as detaching the self.
You close your eyes and kiss someone. You don’t think about the someone, you think about how your lips feel against another, you think about the softness that resonates with your inner want. Your fingers will stroke their skin and it isn’t their skin or their reaction that strikes you, but how there is another body waiting for your touch. Only your touch. And halfway through God knows, you’ll be staring at the hotel ceiling trying to figure out if this is what you enjoy.
And you take parts of them. The whispers that escape them, the smell of their perfume, the way their body arches. Even the way they sit and take their coffee. They become a part of your memory. You carry them in every breath and in every bed you hop into. Your last thoughts will always be how they’ve caressed your face and pulled you closer.
You see, there will always be the self. The other people. The memory.
And no matter how much you tell yourself, it’ll hurt.
Ha. ha. ha.. clearly I’m not cut out for a certain kind of writing
Someone will show up one day.
You dont think they would, you dont think anyone would.
But they do, I promise that they do.
And when they do, there wouldnt be enough words.
Someone asked me if I would write of such love.