Passwords keep us safe. Passwords keep intruders out. They can become an obstacle, a barrier though. Too many layers of authentication. If it weren’t for my faulty memory. If it weren’t for my goldfish-like memory. I’ve been locked out.
Locked out of my own heart. I’m out of touch with my own feelings. This time, I’m going to be very brave. I’m going to listen to my brain, not to my heart. My heart tells me misleading things when reality shows me otherwise.
A walking red flag. I don’t like men of that colour very much. I don’t like red on men. It makes them look gaudy and overbearing. I wish my radar had worked when I first met S. It did, but I overrode it with my loneliness. My loneliness and need for company got the better of me. I wish I had never been the bigger person.
Personality over looks? My ass. Over my dead body. Looks are often a manifestation of one’s energy. It’s rare for me to develop attraction for someone whom I find purely physically attractive. For me, looks encompass one’s aura and energy. If that person’s energy is dirty, it’s very likely I’ll find him unattractive, no matter how physically attractive he is.
You can’t fool me with your words and trite pick-up lines. I’m wise beyond my years. I know what you’re up to. And I know what you’re not up to, equally. You can hide behind a mask. But I’m going to rip it off in a manner not so dissimilar to how you’re envisaging ripping off my clothes, in your vain dreams.
This morning, I had no inclination to listen to songs that remind me of you. They disgust me. They remind me of a time when I was still the girl in waiting, the lady in waiting. She is that no more. She is a ruthless, powerful woman. I don’t like you leading me on with your glances and gazes.
You don’t know what you want. I know what I want, and I’m not going to settle for anything less than the true love I deserve. I don’t deserve half-hearted intentions. I deserve someone who makes it loud and clear that they want me, only me.
Now, go on. In my absence, I hope you suffer, yearning for my silhouette, my scent, my moves, my voice, my laughter, my aura. Yes, go on. Miss me. You won’t find another me in this world.
I am me, and you are you.
You are you. I am me.
I am you. You are me.
I guess that’s it. Why do you look at me like that? What’s wrong with you? I don’t like how your eyes pierce my soul, like you want a part of me without wanting the responsibility.
You like me. And I like you.
So what’s the problem? The problem is reality.
The reality is you don’t like me enough to want me for yourself. I wish you did. I wish you chose me, every single fucking time.
Wishful thinking, I know. But what can I do? Nothing, but move on. Maybe A will turn out to be a solid match. The age difference is not insurmountable. It’s something new. It augurs new energy. I’m trying. Can’t you see? I’m trying something new.
Now, let me be. Let me be. Let me be.
You can go back to the one whom you proudly call your own – your other half. And I will seek my true other half because I deserve that.
Do you miss me?
Are you thinking of me at all?
Si tu m’aimes, fais-moi un signe, s’il te plaît.
Si tu m’aimes, fais-moi un signe, s’il te plaît.
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