The Heckler
Loneliness has been the loud agent constantly heckling at me, some sort of demonic backseat driver urging me on to God knows where. But lately it has become quiet; shyly offering advice, but not pressuring, not forcing me into anything. I have come to the point where I don't really want to begin a relationship with someone. I think of the awkwardness of the first date, of trying to learn who he is and yet remain who I am. I think of setting physical guidelines, how far, how soon, in what context. I think of the time that he will occupy, how I will work to fit him into an already hectic schedule. I think of how I will worry rather or not he truly likes me for me, how I will worry when his attention begins to wane, how I will worry when my feelings for him inevitably diminish or increase. I think of all this, and maybe it's because I'm sleep deprived, but I just want to take a nap. It's all so exhausting and complex, when what I want is simple--I want for when my roommate leaves me alone in our apartment, to be able to call someone and sleep in his bed. I want him to hold me. I want him to settle my bottom against his groin and lazily cop a feel as we fall asleep.
I don't want to have to talk. I don't want to have to think too hard. And I'm damn tired of having to be 'on' all the fucking time--I keep trying to kill the pussy in me who does that, but that cat must have nine lives.
More than anything, I want familiarity. I want, everyday, that sense of homecoming--the way your apartment smells to you after a long weekend. The way your bed settles under your weight. I want the laughter without the jokes, the intimacy without the time, the comfort without the sorrows. Impossible things, I know. I want all the perks without the work.
But I desperately miss the physical. I miss the hand cupping my waist. I miss feeling someone grow hard for me. I miss having sex. I miss giving head.
But feeling someone's body against me, while comforting, without true affection it won't stifle my backseat heckler, it won't halt her commentary. She will continue her fierce whispering. She will not be silenced until our conversation--his and mine--drowns her out, until the weight of our words crushes her.
I don't want to have to talk. I don't want to have to think too hard. And I'm damn tired of having to be 'on' all the fucking time--I keep trying to kill the pussy in me who does that, but that cat must have nine lives.
More than anything, I want familiarity. I want, everyday, that sense of homecoming--the way your apartment smells to you after a long weekend. The way your bed settles under your weight. I want the laughter without the jokes, the intimacy without the time, the comfort without the sorrows. Impossible things, I know. I want all the perks without the work.
But I desperately miss the physical. I miss the hand cupping my waist. I miss feeling someone grow hard for me. I miss having sex. I miss giving head.
But feeling someone's body against me, while comforting, without true affection it won't stifle my backseat heckler, it won't halt her commentary. She will continue her fierce whispering. She will not be silenced until our conversation--his and mine--drowns her out, until the weight of our words crushes her.