Come home to me. Make love to me.
One more time.
We sat, across from each other, eyes finding their ways to not meet the other pair. Here we were drowning in these alternate realities of our own. These realities never emerged well in some evenings and god I fucking wish I could pinpoint where you were that night, where your emotions and feelings were. Where are you even now. Do you even still think of me I often wonder.
All for I am exhausted, trying so hard to read you, and failed, again, the one I thought I once knew. To be walking the extra miles when you’re not looking and not seldom I swear I could die sinking, feeling so patronised standing near you. I wish you’d said a word and not make me hate myself more than I already had that night.
Where are you? Come home to me this time.
Our minds are now running in parallel and never to meet. My romantically orchestrated moves are often mistranslated. I could kill for a show to be the best bf in the world for you. It’s not jealousy because I thought I would have mastered you by now but I proved myself wrong, again. And all this was messing up with how I felt about my worth. But hey, you haven’t articulated something my brain could at least comprehend.
I liked this love, a tough love, which many may envy. I’ve tried to keep that spark alive but I’m tired dancing like a clown alone. Please say something, nod, or bring me into that world of yours I couldn’t seem to access no matter how close I sat.
We both may have changed in one way or another but this is really all I ever was, someone you came across years ago. Among the many things that have evolved in me, my love to you has not. Wish you had talked to me.
Isn’t this shit we call love amazing, even at 26? What it does to people like us who tricked the world he’s got all he’s ever needed to do what he wants, the confidence and all. But you’ve somehow pulled that trick and made me doubt myself again.
The food is good but ffs can we stop this dinner.
I loved the food. Appreciated the people in the kitchen. The people around us seemed happy. We could have done better that time. Or the other evening. Or just, the many other evenings I probably lost count. Thanks for shaking me up and tearing apart my ego a bit too much, or unintentionally breaking my heart open. But believe this: there’s nothing you can ever do to lose my love, even if someone tried to murder it.
All you needed to do was, break this silence. And swim upwards to the surface with me.