Let me just break it down for everyone: I love challenge.
I’m in love with someone who is fourteen years older than me and has a girlfriend of four years who he lives with. The messed up part is, it isn’t an ideal situation for me, but I enjoy it. I like the challenge. I like that he isn’t easy to get, or that things with him are never easy. I wouldn’t like him at all if it wasn’t this way.
My heart is tormented, my emotions are not grounded, but I am satisfied with that in itself. Our relationship has helped produce a lot of creativity on my own part and given me a better understanding of what I want from a person who I will eventually have a long-term relationship with.
It’s okay. I don’t mind that this “relationship” or “dynamic” is fueled by drunken make-out sessions at random bars that result in a taxi ride home full of tears and confusion.
It’s what I really needed this night, what I need now, I hope it can give everyone a bit of peace knowing that no matter what or who happens, there’s a love deeper and fuller than anything man can create, there’s the sounds of creek gurgling and nature passing us by, just waiting for the day when it can exist without man fucking it up with cars and roads and buildings and sewers and pipelines and melting ice flows and industrialization. I can’t wait for that day either. So the creek speaks:
how can i explain any of this to you correctly?
i see you with my eyes, but i feel you with my heart.
you make me want to speak another language that i do not know how to speak, because i don’t know how to say anything else to you.
i do not know which person you are, who you will be tomorrow, and who i will be in a few days, but i know that i love this now.
there are so many words that fill my head, that fill the pages, because i’ve searched endlessly to find the right explanation, the correct words to describe my feelings, but there are none.
i close my eyes and i see two faces. they are both mine, but they are free and i have neither one. they are fleeting, i grasp onto what i can for now, knowing i will feel pain soon.
Virginity is an abstract concept not worthy of existence. It is not a concrete thing, it should not exist. The only aspect of virginity that should be acknowledged is the first time you make love, not the first time you have sex. Virginity is a foreign notion to me. Maybe it’s because I have never felt like a virgin, even when I technically was one. Maybe it’s because I still am one.
If I told you about the first time I had sex, there would not be much to say. It is a simple story, on that has been repeated by many other girls. If I tell you the story and you know me, I’m sure you will feel either surprised or saddened. If I tell you the story and you do not know me, I fear you may judge me. I would not change the way I lost my virginity and I do not regret it. I do not regret anything. However, there may be a time at night, late at night, when my eyes are closed and the room is warm. I will be thinking so hard that if you listen carefully, I am sure that you will hear my thoughts. My thoughts will lead to what happened that night, but I do not feel guilty and I hope for some strange reason that he doesn’t feel guilty either.
I do this things sometimes where if I create a beautiful piece of artwork, I feel the need to put something equally as beautiful next to it. Not so that one outdoes that other one, but so they can coexist and balance each other out. Life is about balance. But when I place something distorted or ugly next to my beautiful piece of artwork, they both appear equally distorted.
That i what that night felt like to me. I was the holder of something rare. Virginity is something you’re born with, it’s a mark of innocence, it’s part of your identity. To give it to someone is equally as beautiful. To have it taken away from you is putting an ugly, distorted picture next to yourself and realizing that you are ugly and distorted as well.
Virginity is never to be taken lightly nor seriously. It is never to be taken. Or borrowed or shared or mistaken. It should be given as a subtle gift, a mark of humility and vulnerability. Whether or not it is something that truly exists, it is soft and delicate.
I think that I am still a virgin, waiting for someone to neither destroy nor take my virginity from me, but to fulfill my innocence once more.
It’s so quiet when I wake up. I sleep longer, eat more, take longer showers, and can’t stop thinking.
I had a dream you handed me a note and it made everything okay. You looked sickly though and your hair was balding, then I realized the note wasn’t from you, it was from Elizabeth. Whoever that is. She wrote it for you, so maybe those thoughts weren’t really yours.
It’s strange, I like receiving notes but for me the content never matters, only the length. I like long handwritten notes. This one was long and explained a lot even though it wasn’t written by you. You thought I was in love with the bartender or the fat guy from high school. But I wasn’t. I liked you.
I’m so alone. The world around me is so busy and I am so slow and quiet.
My story is a soft and quiet one. When I tell it to you, it will hollow out your stomach until it brushes against your spine, making you stand a little straighter.