I Choose You and Me Religiously
This thing happened last night where I think I saw deeper into the machinery. It was like I could see and feel and FEEL vibes. And if they were blue I could ride the wave, but when they went black I was knocked off my board. And the grays. The grays might be the worst part. It’s like, imagine a mechanical cylinder. And maybe there’s something like an elevator in it. And as the floor he’s on shifts up and down it’ll click into place, and a viewport opens, and an arrow points out in the direction he’s directing his energy. And the arrow has sharp edges, but it’s still made of mist. Or milky smoke. I don’t like the word smoke though, because it’s both more solid and more ethereal. Like when you see an HD picture of someone sneezing, but it’s a fairy, so the expulsion of snot is like a glittery, mystical cloud. And it can be so beautiful, but it can also be so soul sucking. The floor with the dementor - that’s the one I want to break the cog to, so the viewport doesn’t open anymore. Or maybe jam the gears so the elevator can’t reach it.
It’s like I know I can’t expect to always be paid attention to, like to have his undivided attention, but when he goes to that floor he’s like a Vecna. Like a cold, cold, hateful energy vampire that both wants nothing to do with me and also wants to drain me of happiness and confidence and joy. I think it goes back to the jealousy. He’s not happy, so he doesn’t want anyone else to be happy either. He doesn’t want people to have what he doesn’t have.
And I think what bothers me so much while he’s on that floor, other than everything I’ve already mentioned, is that he spends it looking for something more. He says he needs some solo time to just unplug and surf his phone. But he’s not surfing games or funny memes or anything happy or productive, he’s surfing pictures and having conversations with men he wants to fuck, he’s tracking other people that he’s in love with, he’s imagining what they’re doing, and what it’d be like to be there with them. And what it was like to be there with them. And maybe that’s why he’s not there with me; because he’s there at his memory river, or his memory hotel room, or where ever it is that he goes. And that makes me sad. And feel like I’m not enough. And he tells me we’re fine, and he sees no issues on his end, and he loves me. But that’s just what his mouth says, and his mouth and his eyes, and his spirit, and his heart don’t seem to be saying the same things.
I just want what everyone else wants. To love and to be loved. To be celebrated instead of tolerated. Maybe one day you’ll read this, and it’ll help illuminate what I guess I wasn’t verbalizing good enough. Or if you heard me, and just didn’t care, or were too gone to fix it, then maybe it’ll at least give you a nostalgia pang of a time when it was still possible to breathe life back into it. That you haven’t found it yet makes me so sad. You could probably tell me what your new lover had for lunch today, how many steps they took this week, the address to every place they visited, how many times they blinked, but you don’t ever even think to check how I’m doing in the most obvious place. Hidden in plain sight, screaming out to be found, just wanting to be seen. And maybe you did find it, and you’re just not saying anything because then I might turn the thought faucet off. I hope if you did, you’d say something.
I really thought by now some kind of wandering friend would find it too. I guess being forgotten is for the best. When they excavate the pyramids though, I hope someone thinks to look here. I hope in the end someone won’t let me down.
A yellow bird.
It’s like I know I can’t expect to always be paid attention to, like to have his undivided attention, but when he goes to that floor he’s like a Vecna. Like a cold, cold, hateful energy vampire that both wants nothing to do with me and also wants to drain me of happiness and confidence and joy. I think it goes back to the jealousy. He’s not happy, so he doesn’t want anyone else to be happy either. He doesn’t want people to have what he doesn’t have.
And I think what bothers me so much while he’s on that floor, other than everything I’ve already mentioned, is that he spends it looking for something more. He says he needs some solo time to just unplug and surf his phone. But he’s not surfing games or funny memes or anything happy or productive, he’s surfing pictures and having conversations with men he wants to fuck, he’s tracking other people that he’s in love with, he’s imagining what they’re doing, and what it’d be like to be there with them. And what it was like to be there with them. And maybe that’s why he’s not there with me; because he’s there at his memory river, or his memory hotel room, or where ever it is that he goes. And that makes me sad. And feel like I’m not enough. And he tells me we’re fine, and he sees no issues on his end, and he loves me. But that’s just what his mouth says, and his mouth and his eyes, and his spirit, and his heart don’t seem to be saying the same things.
I just want what everyone else wants. To love and to be loved. To be celebrated instead of tolerated. Maybe one day you’ll read this, and it’ll help illuminate what I guess I wasn’t verbalizing good enough. Or if you heard me, and just didn’t care, or were too gone to fix it, then maybe it’ll at least give you a nostalgia pang of a time when it was still possible to breathe life back into it. That you haven’t found it yet makes me so sad. You could probably tell me what your new lover had for lunch today, how many steps they took this week, the address to every place they visited, how many times they blinked, but you don’t ever even think to check how I’m doing in the most obvious place. Hidden in plain sight, screaming out to be found, just wanting to be seen. And maybe you did find it, and you’re just not saying anything because then I might turn the thought faucet off. I hope if you did, you’d say something.
I really thought by now some kind of wandering friend would find it too. I guess being forgotten is for the best. When they excavate the pyramids though, I hope someone thinks to look here. I hope in the end someone won’t let me down.
A yellow bird.