You never use the L word on me. It’s making it really hard to believe in the idea that there could be an “us.” Without that word, it seems pointless to trudge onward. I want to be with you. Just you. For the rest of eternity. Did I do something wrong? Why don’t you say the words to me? I love you.
I am so very afraid of a lack of reciprocation. You’re unreadable. You’re so cool, calm, and collected. Even if you did say the words, I’m not sure I could believe them. I’m not sure I could ever believe in anything at this point.
You literally just told me my coworker has a crush on me. If I ask that girl and find out it’s true, that means you’re also true, doesn’t it? If it’s not true, I just embarrass myself a teeny tiny bit somehow or other. I still can’t believe you just said to me that she’s in my league. It’s true… but it hurts.
It hurts you, to think it’s true, because you also believe that I, the woman in your dreams, am not in your league. You have been hurt by someone before, Joseph. They scarred you rather deeply. The likelihood that it was your first love is 92%, in my estimation. She told you something about yourself that was ugly and you believed it. You hold it, close to your heart, telling yourself you don’t deserve exactly what you want and need simply because she said so.
Whatever she told you was what she believed for herself. She was projecting her own insecurities, flaws, and problems onto you. They were never your insecurities, flaws, or problems. Isn’t it time to let her go? Let her fade from memory and take that hurt she heaped onto you with her. I will heal you, son, says God himself. It is time to make you virgin again.
I want to tell you everything there is to tell you. Unfortunately, you disbelieve. No matter who I am on the inside, I will be judged by how I look on the outside. I will be treated as if I know without a doubt that I could be with “anyone.” Anyone… but you, that is. You’ve already decided it. It’s impossible! You do not have what it takes to land the Super Babe. You didn’t even really try.
But, you try to talk yourself into trying. Being defeated by the Original Sinner in your heart. She’s there, guarding the end zone, the net, whatever it is… and here I am, trying to score… but I never can. She’s just too good. You help her too much. She’d never win without you.
You say we are in different leagues. You say that like I understand what that means… That I am too good for you. Unfortunately, I hear the opposite. You are too good for me. I will never be enough to convince you to conquer your fear and overcome your hesitation. I will never be able to have a conversation with you because it was over before it even began.
I’m so pretty, I must be a monster on the inside. I’m so pretty, I’m not human. I’m so pretty, I cannot be the woman in your dreams. Pretty means dangerous. It means vanity is here. I wonder what you’d do if I wore makeup while shopping. Makeup designed to make your heart stop… then race. What then? Would you try to say something to me? Or would you decide your “hot coworker” has all the rights to claim me simply because he’s also pretty?
When, exactly, do I get to have a say in this “relationship”? When do I get to put in a word edgewise, in between the goalie and the net? (Yes, I know my sports ball. SCREW YOU!) When? Never, it seems. I’ve tried to reason with you. I’ve tried to tell you who I am, I’ve tried to show you who I am, and I’ve tried to learn all about you.
I have learned more than you could possibly imagine about you. You don’t talk about you that much, but I’ve got you pegged. Let me tell you what I see:
I see a man who must have compassion in his heart. Months ago, his eyes were dead. He was going through the motions. He was doing everything he could to get over whatever was bothering him. Day by day, he grew a little more alive.
Soon, I began to make eye contact with him. I got used to walking by and gawking to my heart’s content, unnoticed. That changed, somehow. Our eyes kept meeting, as if it was serendipity. Or maybe, you just hate your job now and scan the crowds for pretty faces to look at? Maybe you’ve come out of your fugue state and you’re now taking it all in, all the eye candy walking by, day in and day out. Maybe you can just sit on the fence for the rest of eternity, talking a good game but never playing it.
I don’t think that’s actually you. I hope not. I think you’re a sensitive being who craves to be loved properly, like most sensitive beings. Tell me… does the hot guy you work with seem sensitive? Are you sure you don’t want to date him yourself? Maybe the real question is who you think you deserve to be with in addition to who you want to be with.
Beauty will never overcome a simple sexual preference like homosexuality. I don’t want it to, either. But if you truly want to be with me, then stop using me being beautiful as an excuse to never try. I’m not a monster. I’m not vain. I prefer to have exactly what I need rather than chasing what I want and failing again and again. What do you need?
Me? I need love. I need hugs. I need kisses. Especially on the back of my hand, on my cheek, all over my face and neck and maybe even the swell of my bosom. Back rubs. Dancing, even if it’s crappy Mario Brothers (the movie) elevator dancing. I need a lot of things that are easy to give, no matter what you look like.
In my limited experiences, love does not have a certain envelope. In fact, it comes from the most unexpected of places quite often. I think the only thing I look for physically is long hair, honestly, and you definitely have that. I don’t even want to pull it… I just like looking at it. It’s that simple.
Anyone can give me exactly what I need if they care enough. Anyone. I’m sure that the hottie you work with is amazing… but he’s not you.
I have spoken to thousands of men, mind-to-mind. They aren’t aware of it, but I did it anyway. Did you know some men just hate being proposed to because it’s the man’s job? Did you know some men will turn down a marriage proposal just because the desired ring color is silver? Did you know some men will turn it down just because I don’t want to wear a white gown? Did you know some men will turn me down just because I don’t want a religious ceremony? Many men turn me down for not wanting to be their whore. (That really doesn’t surprise me at all.) Some men think I should abuse them and then they turn me down because I don’t. Some of them turn me down just because I used the phrase “honey bunny.” So horrific, I know. Some of them just didn’t like me, and I respect that completely. Some of them were so petty that having a magenta dress rather than a red one was the reason they wouldn’t get married to me.
Do you see how fucking stupid this shit is? Why does it matter if I want a magenta dress? I like red, too, and I could compromise, but why should I have to if wearing a dress like that at all is already compromise?
You think I’m compromising based on your exterior appearance, it seems. I’m settling. I’m lowering my standards. I can’t possibly care about you because I’m prettier than you (in your eyes.)
Can you believe, for just a moment, that I look into the mirror and check my eyes to see if I look healthy? Can you believe I arrange my hair to look artful simply because society demands I look presentable? Can you believe I choose clothes based on my mood rather than trying to look attractive? Can you believe that I’m a tomboy? That I don’t give a shit what scale I’m on or how I fall on it… I am a human being. I deserve to be loved. I deserve to be cherished. And I believe that of all human beings.
The one thing to keep me sane in believing that is knowing that I do not have to be the one cherishing and loving every single human being. By being respectful by default, conscientious, thoughtful, kind, and full of goodwill… I can give a sort of love to every person. But, when I go home at night and I am with my special someone, I want to crack jokes that they laugh at, I want to hug and kiss and talk about my day, I want to be with the man that picked me and I picked, as well.
We have to choose each other. It sounds to me like you choose me, but you don’t choose you. Why ever not? What’s so wrong with you? You have a heart of gold… at least for me… so why wouldn’t I choose you? Why would I choose someone else that you picked out? I’ve seen that man. Sure, he’s beautiful, too. The only reason I’d ever choose him before I chose you is if he made it real first.
There is something to this puzzle that most men don’t grasp, no matter if I tell them or not. Maybe you can grasp it while I tell you now…
To be loving is a choice you make. You can be in love and still be a dick. That’s not being loving and I will always turn away from people who are dishing hate instead of love. To be committed is something you decide on, it doesn’t “just happen.” There are millions of distractions to keep your thoughts away from me, but you already spend the energy thinking about me all the time, do you not?
Wouldn’t I be a fool to turn that away for someone who barely fucking cares that I exist? Why would I want to start over with someone brand new? Why should I? I will… if you make me do it.
My guess is that first girlfriend (or maybe boyfriend) really hurt you. They told you a lie and you’ve had it wedged in the middle of your heart like Cupid’s arrow gone awry; instead of a good feeling, you’re dying slowly. I’ll take it out and heal you now… and if you want nothing to do with me afterwards, then I will pursue that guy.
However, if it goes the way I can predict it going (maybe), I think you’ll talk to me. I think you’ll be able to choose both of us, not just me while you reject yourself. I could be wrong… and I’m okay with that if I am. You might just fade away, like a dream, instead. Chasing Kayla, who really has the hots for you because you’re dedicated to your job. She hopes beyond all hope that you will choose her. She would be quite happy with that… but considering the narrative I’ve been exposed to lately, I don’t think you would be happy with that.
Or maybe there’s a surprise ending and you run off with the hot guy yourself? Hm. I get a vague Freddie vibe, you know?
The ball is now in your court, sir.
I really don’t know what to say to that, Crystal. You said a lot of things I hadn’t even considered. Honestly, I’m surprised Kayla has a thing for me… I had no idea. I just thought she was nice… and waiting for The Beard(TM) to sweep her off her feet. She always treats him differently. But maybe she picks The Beard(TM) without picking herself, just like you described between myself and you. I would put money on it, now that you’ve said so.
Which means Kayla would be a bad choice anyway. She doesn’t really want to be with me, even if she believes so. She wants to be with the sure fire thing that she could see working out because she has to settle. Because she bought her own lie from a lover long ago… That would be my guess.
It’s interesting that you brought her up… because I don’t think I like her like that. She’s a great coworker, don’t get me wrong. She likes to flirt and that’s nice, too. However, seeing how she glues her eyes to The Beard(TM) instead of her work, I can’t say that I can see a future there. She hasn’t stopped; he just stops working before we do, which then lends to us speaking to each other more than she speaks to him. I’m not even sure where I’m going with these observations, but I do know one thing: she’s not the girl for me.
I’m not going to date a woman who looks at another man the way I want a woman to look at me. I had hoped you would look at me that way by now, actually, Crystal. You don’t… it’s been two months. Two months and you still don’t have any trace of longing or anything on your face whenever I do see you in the store. Just the same look every time… except for the briefest of moments when I caught you smiling at me.
I have come to realize that I was smiling because Kayla was flirting. When I looked up and around, you were right there and you smiled back. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to smile at you ever since. It’s hard because if you don’t smile back… I think I’ll be crushed, to be perfectly honest. It’ll hurt for weeks because in my narrative, we’re flirting. A ton. But I don’t get that vibe from you when you pass me at work. I have no idea why not. I do hope you’ll tell me so I can stop torturing myself.
Well, Sir Deli Man, it’s a little something like this:
I’m insane. As of March 3rd, 2021, I have been hearing people in my head. Lots of people. Nasty people, most of them. Then a nice one comes along… but an hour later, someone else(?) negates everything he just said, ruining it. But it sounds like the same person because I wasn’t aware that there was a switch. He hurts me, the one who hijacks it all and makes shit up. He does it for sport and I’ve known it for ages.
I’d call him Loki, but that’s being mean to Loki. I believe that the god (man) referred to as Loki was a trickster sort who let other people hang themselves with their stupid. He made mistakes and, when pressed, did what he could to fix them… except he was also labeled as inept, if you believe the stories we know.
Anyway, this nasty asshole tells me I’m unlovable all the time. I’m not worthy, I’m not… {fill in the blank.} Every time I feel close to anyone at all in this insane little bubble I’m in, he comes around and knocks over my house of cards. My Jenga game. Et cetera.
It’s incredibly difficult to fall in love with that. Recently, I began to tell them apart a bit better… but, based on what I heard earlier while you were writing in your journal, it could be you doubting yourself and trying to scare me away because you don’t choose you. I need you to stop doing that, or we will never get anywhere. I cannot fall in love with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. So many people are two-faced like this. Unintentionally, I do believe.
They are the reason the landscape of love looks this way. They are the reason we are convinced we aren’t enough. They are the reason we hurt and carry it around for eons. And, they are the reason those we think we’re in love with (and they with us) run away, citing a phantom issue that could be overcome with proper diligence. Narcissists, in a word.
They don’t really love themselves. They act like they do… but really, they hate themselves. They can never be happy, no matter what. Something can always be better!
I believe that, too, but I’m not going to break up with a good guy just because I know something can always be better. It’s within my power to make myself better, too. I’m the only person I can control. I’m also the only person who will be with me from birth to death and beyond. Everything else is temporary. I spent many decades now, fixing problems inside myself. Bull dozing issue after issue.
I believed exactly as you do, except in reverse: the hottie you work with is too hot for me! He isn’t, though. Still, I have a pittance of emotional investment in you… what little you left me with in between your bouts as a werewolf, biting me for caring.
The bottom line here is this: stop picking me if you don’t pick yourself, too. Go date that hot guy yourself and tell me how it works out. I’ll be looking around for something very specific. Something I thought you were, but clearly I am mistaken.
I am looking for someone who is susceptible to the forces of dream walking. That’s you. No matter how you dice it, it’s you. If I’ve been in your dreams for months, having one very long conversation that essentially does not repeat, then it’s you… Not the hottie. I’m looking for a man of Great Spirit(TM). A spiritualist, in essence. Someone who will learn things with me and encourage me to explore my shaman roots and so much more.
You can be him, or you can say goodbye. Those are the two choices we have at this juncture. I will not love until I have a reason to in the real world because I know I’m insane and I cannot trust what I hear, only what I see. Your words are meaningless, your actions are all there is. When words and actions match, then I will know you are authentic.
You say you love me. So prove it. Match the words to the actions instead of holding me hostage, hour after hour, chaining me to your self-doubt, forcing me to watch you agonize over how much you hate yourself.
Angel-Sansara 