Tumble. Tumble. Those thoughts. On top and over one another. Chaos and sanity. Disconnected yet intertwined. I find I have no desire to explain any of it - merely a need to acknowledge their presence and let them go.
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In my long ago younger days of trial and error after a brutal breakup, I had an acquaintance - a booty call - a fine-ass guy, reasonably intelligent, no drama, good in bed. Maybe not the most satisfying encounter(s) of my life by any means but easy and simple. Now and then, we'd run into each other and take the edge off the harsh realities of the world for a few hours without the complication of all that a relationship entails. There was no follow up phone calls. No interference with his other relationships. No hard feelings about time, distance, or other responsibilities. He knew and respected all the unwritten booty call rules.
Until one night, he didn't.
"I keep thinking...maybe...you know...we could be more."
With that one sentence whispered under a summer night sky in the dark interior of that black Probe, I knew it was over for me. He'd broken the rules and asked for something I didn't have to give. There was no anger or drama just acceptance. I remember smiling softly and kissing him on his cheek. I politely declined every opportunity that followed.
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I'm not the kind of girl you bring home to momma and/or family. Whether it's my big tits or fat ass or refusal to shrink in fear, they tend to hate me on sight. Despite my intelligence, kindness, loyalty, faithfulness, their opinion of me always boiled down to "that whore." Every guy tried to convince me it wasn't about me, but it made no difference really. Disharmony is disharmony.
Only once did that not happen. Still miss her.
The icing on the cake is that I'm always stunned to realize how little those who love me actually come to my defense. Somehow - because I refused to allow bitter, petty women to make me cry - my pain isn't worthy of protection. Goes back to what my greatest love told me at 18...you're stronger than she is. He broke up with me that night to go back to his ex who "needed him more."
I swear he fuckin cursed me that night. He apologizes every time that moment comes up in conversation.
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Why the fuck am I only now discovering Maxwell at 46??? SMH. ~sigh~
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When the haze is thick and heavy and you can no longer see beyond your fingertips...Do you rely on the reality in front of your face to take your next steps or hope the path is still where you once believed it to be?
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I learned long ago that you can never convince someone driven by demons of anything they don't wish to believe. My only recourse has been to quit the field. Does that make me the survivor I've always tried to be or a quitter? At some point all have found me again to apologize and express their profound regret, yet I never returned to play that game that I quit. I guess for me it's never been about winning or losing but how you play the game that mattered most.
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Tumble. Tumble. Those thoughts.
~DominaKat
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