if god could make a perfect man for me it would be you.
isn't it interesting how we hurt ourselves. how we'll ask the questions we know we'll hate the answers to, say the things we know we shouldn't because it will fuck things up. like when you press a bruise even though you know it'll just hurt. or tongue an ulcer even though it stings more than a slap across the face. you can't help but do it, you just have to know, no matter how much it hurts.
i've been asking mark about his girlfriend. how she fucks. what she does. what she's like. apparently she is 'very good' and 'knows exactly what to do'. she is 'confident'. i couldn't help but laugh; if confidence is the measure of how good you are in bed then i am surely shit. he says i'm not, and that i 'will learn'. surely i should have already? after four years with him, two of which were fairly regular sex, surely i should know 'exactly what to do' as well? he says it's 'different' because he's known her seven years and 'you pick things up'. again, surely i should have picked those things up by now?
he then went on to say that, 'you're innocent, i like that'. which, for some reason, made me stop crying and smile. i suppose because he rarely comments on something he likes about me, unless it's predictably explicit. it's nice to know that there is something he likes.
i told him i wish i'd made him happy, the way she does. he said i did. and that he only stopped seeing me because he doesn't want to cheat on her, 'that's all it is'. i argued that regardless, single or taken, he's just not bothered about seeing me anymore and hasn't been for a long time. that somewhere along the line i just stopped being worth the effort, and if i'd made him happy that wouldn't have happened. if i'd been better, somehow.
i got no counter-argument.
.
maybe i should give up, give in. give up trying to be thin.
and i'm sorry to whichever man should meet my sorry state,
watch my steady lonesome gait and be aware:
i will never love a man because love and pain go hand in hand and i can't do it again.
i've been asking mark about his girlfriend. how she fucks. what she does. what she's like. apparently she is 'very good' and 'knows exactly what to do'. she is 'confident'. i couldn't help but laugh; if confidence is the measure of how good you are in bed then i am surely shit. he says i'm not, and that i 'will learn'. surely i should have already? after four years with him, two of which were fairly regular sex, surely i should know 'exactly what to do' as well? he says it's 'different' because he's known her seven years and 'you pick things up'. again, surely i should have picked those things up by now?
he then went on to say that, 'you're innocent, i like that'. which, for some reason, made me stop crying and smile. i suppose because he rarely comments on something he likes about me, unless it's predictably explicit. it's nice to know that there is something he likes.
i told him i wish i'd made him happy, the way she does. he said i did. and that he only stopped seeing me because he doesn't want to cheat on her, 'that's all it is'. i argued that regardless, single or taken, he's just not bothered about seeing me anymore and hasn't been for a long time. that somewhere along the line i just stopped being worth the effort, and if i'd made him happy that wouldn't have happened. if i'd been better, somehow.
i got no counter-argument.
.
maybe i should give up, give in. give up trying to be thin.
and i'm sorry to whichever man should meet my sorry state,
watch my steady lonesome gait and be aware:
i will never love a man because love and pain go hand in hand and i can't do it again.