I want to love you
When I say I miss you, I really want to mean it
When I picture the man of my dreams, I want his face to be yours
When I come home, I want you on my doorstep
And for the hugs and kisses I give you to be deep and real
But they aren’t and maybe they will never be
But I keep playing this game hoping that things might Change
I just want to say sorry to my past
For being so young and dumb and foolish and selfish
Sorry to old boyfriends friends lovers
For being so wrapped up in myself
That I lost some of the best people in my life because of it
And I want to say sorry to myself for all the years I beat myself up over it
Because I am a better person today…
or so I hope.
When I take pictures it’s usually scenary. Rarely ever people except for maybe the occasional family photo that my mom makes me take. Usually I’m trying to pictures that make me feel happy. A waterfall, some greenery, random animals I encounter. Last week I saw a fat slug climbing the steps at the temple I had visited after reuniting with my family overseas. He wasn’t impressive beyond being above average sized. But it was the high of seeing my family and missing them, before all those messy feelings of resentment settled in.
My photos are always trying to capture a moment of happiness. Something I can’t seem to keep a hold of.
My thought wander down until I’m in a self made tangent. For example:
I wish I could be someone else in some other place in some other time right now
But probably not a slave in 18 something something Or is was it 17 something something
Man I should have paid more attention in American history instead of flirting with George dkaikovich
Everyone said he had a rat face. Long nose and beady eyes. But I always thought rats were cute.
I wish I had a dog. I’d probably be a slightly happier person.
You can only hide behind your sunglasses for so long little girl
Before the tear drops start dripping down your cheeks
Hold your breath as you try to hold it all in
Suffocating in your own skin
Hoping no one sees the real you
To the softness within
You’re only hope is that it might rain
To disguise the pain that you’re in
I keep telling myself he’s not so great. So I avoid him I don’t talk to him but eventually the idea of him gets larger and larger. Soon he turns into this mythos of a man. His good qualities magnified while his flaws almost completely forgotten.
A friend and lover once asked me “what draws you towards monogamy? Especially when instead of trying to find everything from one person, multiple lovers can fulfill your needs more readily”. My short answer, I’m lazy/don’t like to juggle too many men at once. And while his way of living/fucking may not fit me I do agree with him.
Take for instance in my pursuit for monogamy I do keep 2-3 partners at once until I can find “the one”. Every guy fulfills a purpose.
First string lover provides friendship and fucking. Which include activities outside the bedroom and a healthy amount of personal sharing. I can sleep over at his house comfortably without worry. This relationship almost borders on potential but usually never reaches full potency due to some underlying thing we cannot compromise on i.e. He does not want any children.
Second string lover provides good escapism and sometimes raw animal magnetism. He’s usually good for a drink every other week that turns into a night long fuck fest in which afterwards we catch up and cuddle and then part ways. I usually dont sleep at his place and our conversations never run deeper then the regular small talk (how’s work, how are you)
And then there’s my pinch hitter. He’s a fucking machine, provides no mental stimulus, but he is available almost anytime I call him. We don’t know anything personal about each other, other then a vague idea of what the other does for a living. This guy never stays around for very long because I lose interest quickly.