a victoria p


16 June 2008

bedford and n.7th bar napkin, transcribed and modestly edited

entitled: "but that was just my dick talkin'"
JUNE 2008

I want to defend you immediately (but really, you're so incredibly foolish). I don't want to admit to my our friends that you said it was your "dick" talking when you explained how you almost "cheated" on me in New fucking Jersey (the same fucking place I dragged my friends and myself, even, to come see you in your stupid sex-on-stage show). I don't want to defend you in not speaking about our title, because you knew I was invested (BECAUSE I WENT TO THE STORE AND BOUGHT YOU A MOP) and you said it yourself-- I am a kind fucking girl and I don't deserve this. You set yourself up to be in that situation, times two, and had no intentions of telling me until I brought it up myself. I never asked questions because I sincerely trusted you to tell me what was going on. I also don't want to sit here and pretend that I've been a good girl, because before anybody was invested, I fucked people right under your nose and only admitted to it when you were too drunk to remember. I relentlessly fucked them, if not enjoyed it more, knowing that it might be even slightly wrong. Although, truth be told, it wasn't and you didn't give a flying fuck.

I gave you myself as readily as I became available for giving. I opened myself to you touching me and kissing me and holding me and calling me. I loved you fucking me and wanted to be fucked more and more.

Baggage is something I cannot compete with and it's something we all have (although, mine is not really emotional and it's more so my physical past that's hard to swallow). I cannot be upset with you about how you feel about your past. I cannot be upset with myself for not being able to live up to something you've concocted in your mind that will probably never happen.

My heart aches-- oh, does it ache. My body shutters while I sleep, hoping to roll over next to you, to wake up to your smooth face and distinct morning mouth. I fall asleep next to someone else and I am soundly sleeping thinking it's you. I fall asleep on the toilet in public, in a (respectable! industry!) bar and wake up forty five minutes later to someone with a coat hanger in hand. I wake up and the first thing I turn to is the light of your face that is no longer there. It is simply an attachment I have made over time-- habitual-- customary. Some may call it love, but I really don't know. I hear it comes in all shapes and sizes, but with you I was just working at being myself.

I absolutely long to be next to you right now. I absolutely want my arms around your body. There is not doubt in my mind-- I wish I could be a naivete; I wish I didn't know what you knew all along. I wish you had kept reminding me how you really felt, especially more recently all while I was falling.

I wish you cared enough to ask questions.

And for the first time I find myself alone, since I was by your side (since, I have since filled my days with warm vessels of love and friendship, but mostly just pity) and I am lonely when I'm with people. I am lonely when I am with myself. I am lonely when I am not with you and when I hadn't been with you in the past, I wasn't quite lonely because my subconscious banked on our next meeting.

Our next meeting has come to a screeching halted. You are meak, and make all of your flaws quite apparent but I accept them and I praise you when you're on and when you're off, I accept you.

And although love comes wide and thick, telling me I'm sweet but perpetually falling onto someone else's lips by putting yourself in those situations is plain wrong.

And I am embarrassed and hurt and defensive. Because I am embarrassed to admit that I had fallen for someone so not giving and I am hurt that I couldn't provoke you to give and I am defensive when I explain to people that although I feel you are genuine, I think you need a good buffing and I don't want to admit that I feel for someone so possibly dull as the person you've proven yourself to actually be.


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