If I Lived Till I Was a Hundred and Two

What if, one day, you don't love me any more?

I'd always assumed that you always would, but what if one day...you're talking with some people, and somebody brings up first loves, old girlfriends, heart-breaking bitches. And you think of me, and snort. But it feels kind of hollow, like it's maybe not true anymore and you just did it automatically out of habit. So you stop to think, and you realize that it's not true. You realize you don't love me anymore. And you breathe a sigh of relief. You're free of me.

I wonder if I will ever be free of you. And I'm scared I won't be, and I know that sounds dramatic but I'm scared it might be true because I'm not so sure it was ever really love that tied me to you. It was something sicker, something darker, with a cold, sinister grip. Something that could masquerade as love quite nicely but in the end is actually some kind of monster.

Need?

I'm not sure. It's more complicated than that. But in any case, I don't think I can live without you. I've been doing it for now because I'd always just assumed that one day you would come skipping back into my life, but now it's occurring to me that you....most likely...will not. And not because of some extenuating, Fate-y circumstance. Because you absolutely no longer have any desire to.

I am not sure what to do with this information. So I panic.

You have to love me. You can't not love me. You said you would always love me, and I know that that's the biggest line of bullshit in the relationship world, but I don't care because I've banked an alarming amount of my self-concept on that promise. I have never not believed that. I have to believe that. It has to be true because if it is ever not true then I'm not sure I can function. I have lived on that love, for a long time. That gritty, sweaty, utterly soul-crushing, black box, life-changing, back of your heart, back of your mind, never. never. ever. forget you love has been the reason I survived so much shit. I relied on that to get me through those first lonely, distant months in San Francisco, the morning-after suicide attempt last summer, countless bad dreams, and a troubling amount of people telling me, in so many words, that I was worthless and quite unnecessary to their lives. Because somebody had once given me worth. And I believed in what you saw. You are the only person who has ever really loved me. I mean, the only one who's ever loved me, all the teeth and claws and sadism included. That love gave me life.

If you don't love me...what am I? What am I without your love?

And, if you don't love me, no one will love me. Ever.

(How have I managed to not deal with this for this long?)

My heart, my mind, can't even accept this. I can't even process this any more. I don't know. I'm just pushing it away. Fuck.

Some nights the memory of you is the only thing that gets me to sleep. What a sad, sorry girl I am. I miss you. Something in me calls to something in you, but I feel guilty because I know it's not love, not love the way it should be. But you know what? Maybe I do love you a little, maybe I do care about you in some way. I love you enough to leave you alone. Sweet boy. I just don't want to ever hurt you ever again.

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EDIT
From the Chinese takeout I got later that night:



Classic, right? Katelin thought it was quite ironic; I, of course, was just depressed. Of all the fucking fortune cookies in the world...

You May, You May Wake

When I was finally roused from strange dreams this morning (of helping Mikey trim his hair and old men breaking into my palace), there was a dense ache in the middle of my chest. It took me a moment to figure out what it was. I was so lonely.

He Does Not Need a Name

Because he didn't stick around long enough to catch one.

He is nothing like the other boy. Or....no. I suppose he could be. He and I were the freeze-dried version of the first boy and I, a relationship mini-me compacted into so little time it'd make your head spin.


And spin it does, as I take William's advice to get out of the city, landing in my best friend's apartment several hundreds of miles away, and pulling disappearing acts with large amounts of rum and beer, squeezing the life out of Ian and thanking everyone for being good friends to me. I figure I will get over this soon. There can only be a handful more days ahead where I wander into the bathroom when I'm supposed to be looking for brown sugar, or stare at my bagel and coffee on the counter so long that Crystal's half-way finished with hers in the living room before I even notice what I'm doing.

So a girl got fucked over by a boy. Very old, boring story. I just hate that I keep giving people any amount of power over me, and essentially continually bring all of this down on my own head.

No. No. It's not all my fault. I know it sounds childish, but people honestly need to stop being so mean to each other. People need to have more respect for the other people in their life. People [you] need to stop being so selfish.

And I'm sorry.

He Needs a Name

There is little to say. I met a boy here that reminds me so much of you. I push and pull and smile at him because of that. He has your cheekbones and eyes and build, your voice on the telephone, your social awkwardness and tendency to ramble about inane subjects. He has your worship of me, listing off the things he likes about me while making me a sandwich and telling me I'm amazing every time we speak. I don't want to stick around to see how long it takes for that list to turn into the dull, bitter recitation of "you can't help who you love." I chide myself for pasting on him tracing paper sketched with your image.

Once when I had him pinned to the bed and was covering him with kisses, he made noise and casually threw out the phrase, "You better not go back to California."

I sat straight up in bed, a few small chills chasing each other up and down my spine. I covered my face with both hands.

"Oh my god, you did not just say that."

I climbed off of him and moved to the far side of the bed.

"What?"

I shook my head. "Just...don't even..." How do you explain that one?

He throws out one eerie similarity after another. It's too weird to leave. I stay, entranced, waiting for what comes next.


Side note: It's not all that. He is sweet and sexy and I like him. But still... it scares the hell out of me.