these numbers do something to my body

A physical effect on my body. I don’t think you fully grasp the absolute control you had, or I felt like you had, over me. Control enough, anyways, to raise my blood pressure when I saw the number 53 or the letter x or the number 11 in any and every unrelated context.

Do you really understand the brutal force of my need for you? Do you understand the unrelenting weight of you, and your sadness, and your madness, and your insistent wishing that I could be magically poofed into someone else?

That you thought, if you closed your eyes long enough while you were fucking me, that when you opened them again, I would maybe, just maybe, somehow be her instead? Do you admit that I was a placeholder?

Do you understand how I waited and yearned and begged for you to be mine?

Do you see why I ultimately mourned the person I never thought I would have?

This is why I am tired. And wary. And scared. Because I loved you so desperately.

Trying to convince you to love me was hard and anxious and miserably painful work.

And in retrospect, and after re-reading this, I see in blaring neon all of the errors in my own thinking, and how our history reeks of codependency and control and desperation, and how maybe I just wanted what I could not have, and maybe I never actually loved you after all?

But I have tumbled this question around in my head a million times this month, hoping to find an answer, or at least an arrow pointing me towards one course of action or another. I can say that I stand resolute, and am certain that I did and do love you, like I’ve loved no other before you. Why you or why now I am not sure, especially from such a great distance.

Maybe I needed to learn to trust again in a four year incubator , and we are now at the end of it, and we have nothing left to do at this point but shit or get off the pot.

And after re-reading this yet another time, I see how suffocating I must have been, for you back then, and how much pressure I put on you to save me, and now I laugh out loud, in real life, at my insanity and incurable intensity, and I understand more throughly why we imploded so many times.


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