Silent Muse

Tuesday, Dec. 02, 2008 [1:01 am]

Tuesday, December, 2nd 2008 at 12:07am

I’ll give this to him when I’m ready...

Corvier,
It’s not that I don’t care about you. It’s not that I’m unwilling to forgive and move forward. It’s not that I’ve changed.
It’s that you’re so completely inconsistent. One moment you don’t care if I drive or if you drive, then next you’re so angry over it you wish it’s over. One day you beg me to come visit you more often at work, another day you curse me for visiting you at work. Sometimes you’re willing to do anything to have a life-long companion, a life-long mentor and student, lover and friend. Other times, you’re not willing to do anything at all.
Sometimes you want to become a renowned tattoo artist. Sometimes you want to work for Square Enix. Sometimes you want to move to Mass. with Mike, and sometimes you want to move to Cali to go to the school of Noman. And sometimes you’d rather go out and do nothing worth anything for hours upon end, without calling, without warning, without thought.
Sometimes you tell me you need to hang out with El less, and focus on us more. Sometimes you tell me that losing your friends isn’t worth it. Sometimes it doesn’t matter if we never have sex again, because you love me. Sometimes you’d leave me just because we haven’t had sex in three days.
Sometimes you can’t live without me, and sometimes you can’t live with me. I hardly know what to think now. Are you the guy who’d throw me on the floor? Or are you the guy who’d spend the entire day beside me, talking to me, rubbing me, creating and absorbing? The answer is complicated, but it’s also simple. On the one hand, the simple hand, you are both. On the other hand, the more complicated hand, you are neither. You are becoming the person that you’re going to be one second from now every moment, are you not?
Perhaps you’ve changed. Perhaps you’ve had a realization. You know, I changed before Jeremy broke up with me. I changed a hell of a lot more after be broke up with me, but even before so I had changed. And he didn’t know. Only I knew, and there was nothing I could do it prove it. His trust for me had run out.
I’ve been afraid to do the same thing to you. The only problem is, I was fifteen. You’re twenty-six. You’re probably not going to change, based on all logical probability. But I’m not a robot. I’m not probability. I am an individual, and I don’t fit into the majority and so many statistics that it breaks all of my own reason to follow them when making all of my choices.
Food, that’s one thing. I can drop sugar and bread. It’s not going to change.
You, are human. You have emotions. You make mistakes. You will chance. You have to change. You can’t help but change, because every moment you have experienced something that one moment ago you had not experienced. But how long can I hold on based on the fact you will change? And what are the chances that you’ll change for the better of us?
Those chances aren’t good, not good at all. Not unless you’re making a conscious decision every day to become a better half of the two of us. You have to have that in mind no matter what you are doing in order for us to grow together.
But you’re not doing it at all. You’ve already expressed that you’ve given up, even though just a short week ago you were not going to let me go. Remember that? You said that. You acted on that. We had a lovely five days together. And then I told you I didn’t want you to drive, and you snapped.
Why?
You snapped entirely. You didn’t just yell at me, or argue with me. You gave up on me. You pushed me. You screamed at me. You tried to take my things. You said awful things. You made me so angry I was ready to let you leave. And you have not tried again since. It’s 12:25am and you’re not here.
I can already see it now: You come home at four in the morning. You boast about how much fun you had. You pull out your laptop and play video games for half an hour. You insist I make love to you. You get angry when I refuse. I get angry because you demanded it and then got angry when you can’t even spend an hour with me.
How is this supposed to prepare me for making love to you? These are the thoughts I have while you’re doing whatever it is that you’re doing. This is how I feel when you don’t call me. And you waltz in here like I owe everything to you. Well, I don’t.
I did your laundry today. I cleaned up the plates and food you left out. I picked up your stuff off the floor. I didn’t eat a damned thing all day except a cup of tea which I made myself, and finally just now, I ate eggs. Oh, whoopy, eggs. Why? Because you have no intention of giving me grocery money because you’re still mad about me driving you around!
And I’m supposed to make love to you?
I know you’re reaction to this too. You’ll get really pissed off right about now. You’ll let it get to you. You might stop reading this. This might curse at me. You might declare that you give up. I’m too difficult. I’m a bitch. I demand too much. I make your life difficult. I act like I’m so perfect. Here I go, trying to play you again. Those are your thoughts, aren’t they? And I bet you still think I owe it to you to fuck you?
I’ll tell you what Corvier. I can be your whore, but I won’t be a dumb slut. A whore gets fed. A slut just gets a dick in her ass. A dumb slut gets the cock of a dick-head in her ass. I won’t be a dumb slut Corvier. I won’t. Right about now, being your whore is the best offer I have for you. I can’t make love to you, because I don’t feel love between us at all. I feel an aching emptiness where there ought to be love. I keep telling you I love you because I still care a hell of a lot. More than I probably should.
I still want what’s best for you. I still want your company. I still want you to be a better person. I still want to give you another chance you don’t deserve. I still want to touch your hair and make you smile. God fucking damn it, I want to do things for you still, and I don’t even know why! You clearly don’t want to do a damned thing for me!
But here is something you never get. I keep telling you over and over again. It’s not that you’re not doing enough for me. It’s not that you stay out late. It’s not that you don’t know what you really want above all else yet. That is not the problem. Can I say that enough? It’s NOT what you’re doing for me or not doing for me. It’s NOT about being late or on time. It’s NOT that you’re unclear about what you want out of life.
Here is what it IS:
It’s about you loving me the way I love you. I love you enough that I want to do things for you because I enjoy doing things for someone I love. I like to please you because I love you. I like to make you smile because I love you. I like to touch you. I like to hear you laugh. I like to watch you do thing because I love you. I love to make love to you because I love you. I love to kiss you because I love you. I call you when something makes me sad or happy because I love you. I am always here for you because I love you. Because I love you.
I cook for you because I love you. I clean up after you because I love you. I go places with you because I love you. I answer the phone when you call because I love you. I tell you how I feel and what’s on my mind because I love you. I ask what you’re doing because I love you. I think about you all the time because I love you. I’m writing this letter because I love you. I cry because I love you. I want to be around you because I love you. I ask you how you are doing, how your day has been, and what you’re up to because I love you. Because I love you.
Not because I want to get something back. Not because I want your money. Not because I want your cock. Not because I can’t wait to hold it against you. Because I love you.
What upsets me is not the actions themselves, but how they reflect how you must feel about me. If you loved me, then wouldn’t you call me to let me know you’d be late because you’d care about my feelings? If you loved me, wouldn’t you try not to be late, instead of purposely going out? If you loved me, wouldn’t you be honest with me? If you loved me wouldn’t doing small things for me be a matter of enjoyment not exchanged favors?
I feel like you care a lot. You care as much as most guys care about their women. You care even more than many, probably most. But I don’t believe most people are really in love by my definition. Just like most “friends” are not really friends by my definition either.
Love is not about taking a bullet for someone. Love is about taking out the trash because your loved one is tired. Love is rubbing their head because it hurts. Love is making them coffee or tea because they have trouble waking up. Love is calling whenever you’re happy or sad or going to be late. Love is not being embarrassed, not having to lie, not feeling stupid. Love is putting that person first in your life. Love can’t survive anywhere but first in your life. Do you understand? Do you agree?
I’m guessing that you do, but that you don’t know that you do. Or you’ll say you agree, but then won’t act on it. I think your emotions are true. I think your logic makes sense. But I also think that you deny yourself the truth when you’re scared, or hurt, or angry.
I feel stupid for writing this. I feel embarrassed. I feel ashamed for caring so much. I’ve been telling small lies to avoid arguments. I’ve been trying to hurt you just to see if you’d care. I’ve gone against the spirit of love and because of that, I don’t feel the same. Unless you want to step up to the plate... Then this is goodbye.

swallow a knife