Sure Thing

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He was a sure thing.

I’ve never been positive about anything in my entire life as I was with him. I felt it deep, down into my inner most being that he was my sure thing. My forever.

I’m a thinker, not a feeler and he also made sense. He wasn’t a gut feeling, he was a well calculated life plan that had a bonus of a feeling to go with it. Some would blame him for constantly telling me over and over again that he knew he’d never spend his life with anyone else but I would just nod my head, smile, leave him with a kiss and say, “I know.” Because I also knew better than to trust his words alone. I knew and proceeded with caution. It wasn’t the words that slipped through his tongue that had me attached to his side, it was me and my certainty. I never trust anything, but I trusted myself.

I felt I could be whomever I was and he would always love me, there would be no hesitation. Forever wasn’t just an imaginary word that we could hope to achieve, it was happening, right there and then and not any sort of force in our world could stop it.

Now I find myself starting over, trying to regain the trust in myself that I once had. Myself betrayed me though, it took the innocent certainty I thought I could always fall back on and destroyed it, piece by piece. I now think my soul is hiding, embarrassed of the mistake it made because I can’t feel the firmness it would give me in any of my decisions anymore.

Where I was overcautious when I met him, I feel I’ve now become the complete opposite. Throwing myself into whatever comes in my direction without the constant battle of seeing if I can calculate and find out if the joy could outweigh the hurt. I’m letting my heart live as recklessly as I can stand for it. So for now, I just close my eyes and spin, hoping that I don’t stumble and fall too far down.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust myself again, but that may be for the best.

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The Spaces Between My Fingers Is Where You Belong

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I want to lie in bed all day with him. I want to place my hand over his heart and feel all his blood pumping his emotions through. Like a compass telling me where to go next.

I want to feel his scratchy face against my cheek. I want our feet to intertwine and warm each other. I want his fingers to tickle my spine, ribs, and knees. I want laughter and the afternoon light to stream in. I want music to play softly in the background as we discuss our dreams from the night before.

I want his lips to warm me. I want to hear all his plans. I want to watch him sleep as I write. I want to doze off and wake up to the feel of his hand in mine.

I don’t want him to ignore my softer spots, but tell me how beautiful they are. I want to feel his hands in my hair and on my face. I want to breathe and share oxygen with him.

I want him to tell me I’m all he’s ever wanted. I want hugs to feel like he could swallow me into him. I want him to whisper, ‘Today, you don’t have to think. Just be.’

Maybe I want too much?

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Burning Memories

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Six months. That’s how long how it’s been since this all ended. Six months since I felt his skin on mine or wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him close to me and smelled that all familiar scent that signaled home.

I’m ashamed to admit that he still crowds my thoughts, but its the truth. Even here, on vacation, he haunts me like the ghosts that visit the cobbled streets I walked down tonight. The beaches remind of his distaste for the white, sand that he finds too sticky and hard to detach from. And when I go shopping, I absentmindedly think of him and the things he would have liked me to get for him.

I can’t escape him even at night, no, that’s the worst of it. He climbs into my dreams and leaves me to wake in a painful sweat, with an ache that I can’t stop making my brain replay. Whether dream or nightmare, it always ends the same; me wishing he was there to hush me and hold me close, comforting the ghosts of my memories away. Now he’s become one of them and I can’t seem to find a cure for it.

It’s better than it was six months ago and I keep hoping the poor memory skills I have will kick in and I’ll no longer have to remember his touch, laugh or the happy way he made me feel. I don’t hold any memories from any of the summer camps I went to as a child so this should be easy enough….right?

Time. I just need more time. Six more months and I won’t be picturing the way his hand held mine as we drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Just some more time.

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Text Whore

tigerhead

Oooooh technology these days. I’m not very old and I still remember making collect phone calls to my mom on the pay phone at school. I never fully put it through, just instead of saying my name I’d quickly shout out, “Come pick me up!” She always seemed to get the message. I got my first cell phone when I was sixteen and even then I didn’t start this whole texting fad until I was nineteen.

So I’ve been thinking a lot about this because as much as I hate to admit it, technology plays a much bigger role in my dating lifestyle than it did even when I was still in high school. Things like, I will never be set up on a legit ‘blind date’ because I will always be able to FB stalk him and if he doesn’t have an account than he’s a freak and obviously I will never want to meet him. There is also the good chance that I will break up or be broken up with by text message. Harsh? Yes, but an unfortunate and possible reality.

Texting and dating don’t always work well together, especially for me. I am the type of person who will want to talk to someone solely through text messages as a way of getting to know them, this way I can gauge how good they are at this form of communication and if they can interest me through that then they must be cool enough to meet in person. This theory is so very flawed and I know it. I am obviously just using it as a buffer so I don’t have to ever be put in an uncomfortable position, and it’s clearly not fair to the person who sucks at texting but has an awesome personality. I only followed through on my first date with my ex because I was convinced he had amazing texting skills, this turned out to not be the greatest decision of my life.

Yet, I still do it.

In my texting experiences I’ve come across a couple different types of guys:

1. The Skeeze. Clearly this guy only wants one thing and that is to be my future baby daddy. He doesn’t even attempt to hide it. He’s the one who will sometimes begin by asking about my day but really just try to keep steering the conversation toward my looks and various body parts. I in turn, try to keep steering things back toward actual conversations in hopes that he’s just being complimentary. Then usually, in the very next text, he will say something about licking something off me. (Well, that escalated quickly.) This is where I stop the interaction and promptly delete him from my contacts. It’s sad but this seems to be the majority of guys who try to talk to me, maybe I need to stop ‘working what my Mama gave me?’ (Which is child bearing hips and oblivion to most of my surroundings.)

2. The Lullaby Guy. Simply put, he usually has me falling asleep. He is the type that literally has the most boring topics ever, I mean how many times can we discuss how much mud season sucks? Or maybe his stories are just that boring, it has been known to happen. It’s very rare that I don’t text someone back, I like having the last word, but there have been a few texter mates who I have completely lost interest in even responding to. This is a sad day when that happens, I don’t have much hope for someone who can’t keep a conversation going through messages, which is horribly unfair because I have known many people who can’t hold interesting banter through the phone but are the most exciting people to be around in real life. (This is proven through one of my greatest friends, Stuart, who only recently started texting with his phone but leads the most adventurous lifestyle.)

3. The Invisible Man. Seems kind of obvious right? This one I will hear from with a quick ‘Hey,’ sometimes followed by an obligatory question but then he’s gone. Hours, days even will go by before I hear from him again. WTF. Did your thumbs get crushed suddenly? I will never understand someone who starts a conversation but then loses interest after two words. (Maybe in those situations I’m the Lullaby Girl?)

Again, I know that I put too much stock into this and it’s completely unfair, so please try not to get too offended by all of this. I’m far from perfect and know that, but as someone who lives for words and tries to always be able to hold eloquent conversation through a keyboard (Tries!) I find it frustrating when I can’t find someone else who does the same. I’m not looking for long, drawn out messages, I just want one person who can make me laugh, or get me to think about something in a different way. I appreciate all of that and I know I’m not always at the top of my game. I’m sure I’ve been all of those aforementioned texters, in girl form, at some time or another.

In reality I’m the one with the problem. I should probably ditch my phone and try to start to have normal face to face conversations again, no matter how awkward or excruciating they could be. But then, what would I have to whine about?

Please feel free to share your unfair gripes about dating so I don’t feel so alone.

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The Distance Of A Touch

sleepingIt was far too quiet before we kissed. Not a word was spoken between either of us, he just suddenly found me. He didn’t ask, but then again why should he? I still wasn’t prepared for the moment his lips met mine. I knew I must have looked like a dead fish, standing there lips out, with barely any emotion as his mouth hungrily searched for the passion in mine. His arms were wrapped around me, pulling me into him as though he hoped he could absorb me and my loneliness. My arms still hung loosely to my side, never moving. I was lost, unsure what to do. I seemed to always be afraid of the moment.

The torturous feel of his rough palms on my skin made what little substance I had in my stomach react angrily against me. It was threatening to come up and ruin the romance he was desperately trying to create. Hair fell in his eyes as the brown hue searched for something I couldn’t provide. I turned away, unwilling to let him see the disgust that was building behind the blues in mine.

I gently touched his chest as his lips pulled away and he warmed me with his embrace. There was still layers of clothes between the two of our bodies, keeping us at a distance that brought a security I felt but didn’t really need. My eyes wandered to the bedspread we were huddled closely together on; the flower print screamed an innocence I was no longer privy to. Tears welled behind my eyes as I curled my hand, moving it from his heart, beating heavily through his rib cage, to his arm, hard and strong as it steadied my body, keeping it from floating away. I listened for the sound of his breath to grow slower as he drifted off to sleep.

Feelings seemed so hard to emote now. Nothing was easy, it was all just a motion I had practiced and become accustomed too. I was a brilliant actress in hiding the pain that constantly consumed my every movement. If he noticed, he kept it to himself. A smile was all he needed to feel assured that I was where I wanted to be. And he could never tell if it was a smile that was stretched far too tight to ever be taken seriously. ‘Beautifully oblivious’ is what he was. That’s why I chose him, and because of that I was kissing lips that were still too unfamiliar.

I traced the line from his forehead to his chin and thought of how he was someone else’s everything. Someone else woke up every day wishing he still had their arms wrapped around them and yet I only felt suffocated by the closeness they created. I moved his heavy arm from it’s grip around my waist and pushed my body toward the wall, because that was all the togetherness I could absorb for one night. Tomorrow would be another day of avoiding touches and forcing words. All for reasons I was told would help but couldn’t understand.

Maybe tomorrow it would all seem worth it. Maybe tomorrow it would be clear. Maybe.

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