stop hurting me..
I am well. No, I am not. I am a basket case in this god-forsaken place. I cry all the time now. I never used to. Anytime I meet a man, I get sad. Never have I seen such a display of romanticism. Never have I felt so loved.That makes the men so sweet and so vicious. I don’t understand it. It intrigued and bedeviled me. It tortured me and made me feel rapturous. It was a mistake to have tasted that.
But I am me, and it was inevitable. Something in my body drove me to that part of the world, to be with men from there. That something was a need at once chemical, biological, emotional, everything. The cells in my body had to experience it, I was just the host who dialed the phone to first speak to you. They had to be satisfied. And you embodied everything that I was seeking romantically. Those cells were satisfied, but now the host is not. The cells are waiting around, cleaning under their fingernails, wondering what’s next. They don’t know that I took my cue from them.
The problem is with the way I feel inside. I feel a bit dead.
Will I ever be able to experience the way a kiss reorders a life in its own way? You suddenly become a different person. You are born anew. This is your normal dull routine, your fears are right there on the kitchen table where you are expecting them. Dinner at 7, then to bed by 10. Your nightmares are waiting for you upstairs. But with a kiss, all bets are off and you smile and go into another blissful realm. You lose your balance but you know that when you fall it will feel good. It is so exciting because it is unknown. Maybe the flip side to incredibly romantic people is a penchant for being mind numb. That only a specific kind of love is the only thing that wakes us up. That is my true fear.
