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Lovers USAmerican Lovers

Missed Connections

Missed connections. The lid of the Dunkin Donuts coffee cup that I’m using to drown out the sensitivity that you awoke in me smells of cheap perfume. 

I think of your smell… which I only noticed right before I left. You wanted photos together and I should have shied away. I should have burst into tears and confessed how ugly I feel, how far away I am from the passion that I am, and how loud that insecurity rings in me when I’ve given you control, when I’ve abdicated power because I can’t be a Zoe in love, all I can be is playful, small kitten. 

I am neither. 

All I am is desire and right-knowing-ness – and through that I am given the strength to feign patience. But I step into your smell, a piece of something that in its incompleteness freezes me, everything curling inwards to protect and escape and I become unnatural.

But I did not shy away from photons carving a map of that moment. I stepped into the cage and swung the door shut behind me.

But I know that this is not right. this is wrong you are wrong. what is right is not artificial barriers. What is right is not slow, or calculated. what is right is freedom. freedom of movement freedom of expression. freedom of emotion.

Freedom to be loud and fast.

My truth is that the wrong in this is only that I am forced to build barriers that I don’t want to. I have to have matching barriers to yours, for my pride. For a civilized exterior. For consent. I have to guess what yours are and will be and build mine first and fast, build ones that remind me how quickly I’d tire of the chemtrails bullshit and the masochism. Build a nice thick wall that looks so well laid on the outside but is nothing but patchwork masonry filled with sand. because that is what is called respect. Barriers. 

But I don’t want to.

I hate consent.

I want to do everything to each other, especially the things behind those barriers. You have talked to me of touch. Of the need.

Your need.

I want you to come up behind me and laugh at me for forgetting your lesson to be aware what is there and tease me for painstakingly building my wall in a semi-circle.

I think of the exquisite discomfort of that physical proximity and how it squeezed tears out of my eyes, driving away half blind. Doing the sane thing. Doing the reasonable thing. Hoping now the cheap stimulants caffeine sugar make me feel something right about this. something right about driving away from being touched. Driving away in maturity, doing the reasonable thing. Driving away from something I can’t have rather than chasing chasing chasing.

Rather than throwing off my clothes and hitting the deck in that health food store, kicking my feet and pounding my fists on the linoleum while tantrum-screaming “De-escalate THIS, motherfucker”. Rather than maniacally bending the world, the planet, the Seas, the Nations, to my Will. 

I want to curl up in that smell, the smell of Earth. digging my toes in and feeling you between my digits. You smell like love. And home.

Instead now thinking about the life of the woman who handed me the cup of coffee through the drive-thru window I’m thinking about her acne and I’m thinking about the cheap perfume her wrists left on my Coffee Lid. I’m thinking she must have poisons she numbs herself with. We all do.

I relish this complexity but if I have to numb the feeling and if it results in feeling caged and trapped, a prisoner of my own body, shirking work, half present for the others I love, feeling unable to reach you and I am alone without consent, then to what end? To wring my heart? Accept the dogma that it’s all me, designing experiences of frustration for myself so that I can suffer self-imposed rejection and keep myself at the high table with the kool kids? To wait in agony until the web/net stretches thin and flimsy and soft? Bah. Missed connections.

How can I be so powerfully independent and yet want you so fucking much.


Other Pining:

The Things You Miss

Other Musing:

Tsunami-San

Other Frustration:

Stop. Falling. In. Love. With. Monogamous. Men.


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