one last night

The beach behind her is one I’m familiar with, and my heart skips a thousand beats. My own engine begins to rev, my bones breaking open. I’m suddenly sobbing in front of this computer screen where her smile is so wide and bright that I’m not sure what I long for more the beach or her. I thought I was over this, but I suppose I reopened the wound myself. It probably is that she seems so unaffected by our departure from one another’s lives that brings this rush of stabbing pain in my heart. I want so desperately to be over it, to forget this longing I feel for her. That distinct pining that waves between me like the ocean she just left behind. Those moments of happiness were just dreams, weren’t they? My body in bright wool colors pressed against her, shoving her along a wall with my lips at the forefront - leaning over to kiss her before we parted. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. What a fool I feel like for falling for this woman who will never desire me as I have desired her. The pain she has caused has already been so deep, and yet I can’t seem to entirely cut the cord. I am addicted to the moments of awareness, even our last encounter brought strange feelings of loss for each of us. I haven’t cried over her many times, maybe because I understood early on this would hurt me and so I kept myself together tightly by yarn and needles. I crawl back into bed, with my knees to my chest and sob some more for what I’ve lost, for what never was and for never being able to share my feelings for her - with her. One day I may consider the idea of writing it all down for her eyes to see, but only when I know I am strong enough that any response would not drive a stealthy stake into my already broken heart.

It would be better if I thought that she did not care for me at all, that I never crossed her mind. It is worse when you know for sure that you do encounter this persons mind even as a memory at some point even if briefly. Oddly enough on a day where I would stumble across my undead feelings for her she would text message me then try to engage in a conversation, even if we were both short and stand offish in our responses it was something that shook me. If only she understood all the pain she had caused me. Jae. Jae. Jae. I used to say her name with an edge of beauty, temptation now whenever I utter it - it feels so brittle against my tongue, my lips pouring out with a shade of ugliness.

beating like a hammer

I bury my heart in the ground, not forever and only romantically. It simply does not suit me in that sense anymore. I’ve decided I can be romantic in other areas of my life, with my work and writing especially but with lovers it just doesn’t sit right. Everything I wrote in the past few days were about a lover I’d recently taken who despite both our obvious efforts not to get serious quickly ended up in several abrupt sexual encounters – that emerged as more as time wore on. I even met her children oddly enough, and found myself in her sons bedroom talking about cars, and having a blanket strewn over me. She already knew how easily I attach to children but subjected me to this involvement anyway. Her desire for me distorted her responsibilities and my desire to be wanted reflected my mistakes.

I still lust for Jae a little even though our last encounter was brief, and she saw me with this new lover. Her eyes stung with a distinct misery. I wasn’t sure though, as I kept looking at her through the crowd wondering, and waiting for something magical even mysterious to happen. In my heart I know I wanted her to declare some undying love for me. It has been said I carry my emotions in my eyes, and I shouldn’t have been surprised that my lover tugged at me saying “you two had a thing.” I suppose this wouldn’t have been obvious were my heart not still pining for something surprising to happen. I hope she thinks of me in that far away place, if only because it is where I have always felt at home. I imagine her dusting sand off her legs at night, the shimmer of the moon caressing her tan brown skin. The sound of the waves dancing in her ears, while she thinks. She is always thinking, and for a moment I cannot help but hope that she is not so cruel as to not think of me. I haven’t let myself think of this too much but tonight the thoughts come in and out if only because I have disconnected from the lover in my life who will most likely reconnect. They can never stay away for too long, even if she is stuck on finding something wrong with me.

My hearts still feels quite fragile and I am working on breathing new life into it but working through the extremity of this summer will take time for all these women began to mingle as one in my memory. It is as if I have loved them all, over and over again. I weaved a wicked web for myself, and unweaving its decline is the hardest thing of all. There are so many things I wish to forget such as my ex exclaiming that I am a cold hearted bitch. She is crazy though and I never did in fact love her, even though she desperately wanted me to. I cannot believe I had to swat her away at a party, nearly punching her in the face. The number three is a charm isn’t it? That must mean my dating misery is over. I cannot wait to runaway to California and I’m not afraid to call it running away, sometimes your heart needs to escape everything you know in order to build a new heart to sustain you for a little while – till you let that heart open again.