February 8, 2021

I Don’t want a Part-Time Lover.


I wondered about you this weekend.

My wild imagination creating an entire world of scenarios in which you are either:

>> having the time of your life, not a care or thought of any heart other than your own glorious golden one, filled with all its lust for life and desire for freedom and fun, or

>> sunken into a deep dark self-loathing where it’s impossible for you to see how much you are held and loved even by yourself, much less someone else, much much less someone like me who sees you in the truest, purest light and wants only light for you.

My mind oscillates between the two, slowly like a stand-up electric fan in the stale heat of summer. When it’s on the “time of your life,” utterly self-serving side, I’m kinda pissed and it makes it a bit easier to take the silence through tightened teeth. I want that fun for you, oh, and also “f*ck you.”

When it’s on the “dark self-loathing,” sweet baby you who was never loved as you deserved and clearly not breastfed long enough side, I just want to hold you and cradle your tender, precious heart and softly kiss your forehead.

Snapping out of it, to the brightness of my current reality, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the now, current state, not there, but here. I can’t know what’s happening over there or in there because I was not invited. I understand how violating it can feel to let someone in that deep, or at all. What a relief you spoke of to not have anyone close enough to care so f*cking much or be waiting for the answer to that particular puzzle. Maybe it’s a puzzle to you also…Well, there I go imagining again. It’s really not my puzzle.

All I know is what’s happening here.

I know there’s an amazing woman over here who loves and cares for you deeply. I also know her heart well. I have excavated the innermost, deepest caverns of her heart and soul and I know that she would sacrifice herself.

She longs for true partnership, to be wholly and equitably met by the divine masculine to her sexiest feminine. I know that you came closest—like ever—in her 42 years in this soft body. I know she holds out for you for that very reason—it’s why she’s still single. She would burn it all down to be with you. She would write about herself in the third person to help you understand her better.

I know what I was offering you, and it was unconditional love. I still offer that. I will love you always. Now though, you are being put into a protective bubble. Not just protective from the outside, but also from the inside…meaning, it’s protecting you, but it’s also protecting me from you.

While your breadcrumbs are the most delectable, they are but breadcrumbs, and I am starving. I am far too sensitive and feeling to let you in so deep and then not hear from you for days. I know I can’t keep from such oscillation, no matter how good a practice I believe it to be and how good it could be for me to foster that type of discipline.

I just know me. It hurts.

I’ve learned over this quarantine time that it’s not personal—it’s not me, I know that. I also know, though, that I am not capable of not caring. I am not the avoidant type of person you need to be to be a part-time lover, especially without the close, intimate person part. I need that in my lover.

I wanted so badly to pull off pretending to be the girl of your dreams who could have deep, intense, fleeting moments with you and then disappear back into my own life, all aloof and nonchalant. To fill up the rest of my life with bright beings and people who see me.

I tried that, actually, but you’re always there; you’re in me and in my dreams. So I guess I’m saying that’s where we’ll be together…in my dreams. See you tonight!


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