"You have to detach yourself" Apr 9, 2005 3:45 am
Mood: drained
Those were the words that precede the heartfelt love poem written to another woman by the man I'm seeing. He finally called, and I tried so hard not to answer, in fact, I ignored the first four phone calls, but broke down on number five, and as I declined his invitation a pregnant pause eroded any intimacy that may have been established. It's pretty obvious to me he's interested in someone else, because the usual schedule of hanging out had been disrupted. Yet, when he calls I'm supposed to jump at the prospects of getting together? No fucking way! Now it's my turn to play the game, my bitterness driving a wedge between us. Was I simply a good fuck for the time being, a welcome distraction from the mundane travails of life? How coulds I be so foolish to entertain the notion of being worthy enough to inspire a poem? I'm the friend, the fuckbuddy, the one the love poem is recited to for approval before submission to the "real" interest. So tomorrow should be interesting indeed, we work together, ands somehow I have to keep intentions of rejection from reverberating through my mind. Why do I care? I have no clue, as I meant to break this trite affair off months ago, just couldnt find a nice way to do so. Fuck nice and fuck him....recite your poem to someone who cares. It all comes down to knowing no matter where I go, I dont belong...the void that is lonliness and utter solitude provides no solace. Detached I am, alone I stand.
Mood: drained
Those were the words that precede the heartfelt love poem written to another woman by the man I'm seeing. He finally called, and I tried so hard not to answer, in fact, I ignored the first four phone calls, but broke down on number five, and as I declined his invitation a pregnant pause eroded any intimacy that may have been established. It's pretty obvious to me he's interested in someone else, because the usual schedule of hanging out had been disrupted. Yet, when he calls I'm supposed to jump at the prospects of getting together? No fucking way! Now it's my turn to play the game, my bitterness driving a wedge between us. Was I simply a good fuck for the time being, a welcome distraction from the mundane travails of life? How coulds I be so foolish to entertain the notion of being worthy enough to inspire a poem? I'm the friend, the fuckbuddy, the one the love poem is recited to for approval before submission to the "real" interest. So tomorrow should be interesting indeed, we work together, ands somehow I have to keep intentions of rejection from reverberating through my mind. Why do I care? I have no clue, as I meant to break this trite affair off months ago, just couldnt find a nice way to do so. Fuck nice and fuck him....recite your poem to someone who cares. It all comes down to knowing no matter where I go, I dont belong...the void that is lonliness and utter solitude provides no solace. Detached I am, alone I stand.