To all the women I would never love
It was always me.
This sounds like a line straight out of a fuckboy’s playbook but for me it is true. I would be the first to admit I have a manipulative strategy. I draw you close warning you that this fruit is forbidden, this love is unattainable, this cruise you are catching will leave you in ruins and tears. But I don’t shut the door and that is where my fault lies. I allow you to get used to the idea of affection instead of showing you true affection. I offer fairly used emotions wrapped in shiny packaging.
I tell you that you deserve better, I remind you that when someone truly loves you they would love you loudly, relentlessly, fearlessly without holding back. I see your eyes asking me questions, urging me to be ready, asking me to step up to the plate.
But I can’t baby. It’s not because I am deeply flawed. It is more because I am badly scarred. There are dark parts of my soul that I hide in forgotten memories and flashbacks from a childhood of one-man entertainment. I hide those parts so I can be the man that makes stupid jokes that keep you laughing. I keep these parts beneath bubbly conversation and a smile plastered on my face as I listen to you every day.
But when I leave your presence, the darkness and cold selfishness descend on me. I still can’t bring myself to fall deeply and wholly in another person. I don’t love myself enough, I don’t trust my purpose, my life’s journey and odd choices weigh more heavily than a picket fence and laughing children,
I hear your voice taunting and laughing, warning me that I will regret this. I'll end up old, sad, wasted surrounded by material things but empty inside. I see that picture too but in my version, I am enjoying a quiet evening surrounded by just my thoughts and the evening breeze. Maybe I share these moments intermittently with someone who has tasted the bondage of marriage and yearns for freedom, maybe I share them with another old lonely soul battered from chasing labels, following conventions and seeking perfection.
The truth is I don’t know, you may be right but to be honest I don’t really care. If that is the price I have to pay so the terrors that keep me up at night don’t come true then I am ready to pay.
See what I have done? made this all about myself again. This was supposed to explain, to provide comfort, to be closure but it has become an argument, a confusing tirade of unspoken emotions, buried fears and deep pain.
That’s all it is ever going to be. I fear that in this cloud there is no silver lining. Maybe we will meet at an airport one day. You would be surrounded by loud kids, the model husband you deserve and laughter. I’ll be looking from afar thanking God that you survived me, that your scars from our war did not damage you, that you found love, joy and peace.
Maybe I’ll write again, This time with more clarity and try to answer your questions directly, some kind of weird self-therapy that is supposed to make me feel better.
The playlist is almost at its end now and I fear that when it ends, so will my vulnerability. It almost seems like its a high, a temporary escape when I can finally tell you half-truths. You deserve better, you always did.
Love
S
