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Posts Tagged ‘marriage’

You are the only considerably older man who is legitimately attracted to me. In a pretty sure you’d take me in the back and fuck me kind of way.
At first I thought you had taken a sort of fatherly interest in me and my life and my potential future accomplishments.
Then I got a little older and you took a maybe exaggerated interest.
I have the feeling you were always the sort of man who got what you wanted.
Don’t get me wrong, flirting with you is fine, if you think that the friendly chatting and laughing we occasionally do is flirting.
And if I was a different person I just might take you in the back and fuck you.
But here is the thing. Even though he’s married, I would still much rather fuck your son. Even though he’s married, I’m pretty sure he would be absolutely heartbroken, disgusted, horrified, devastated if I did fuck you.
I don’t actually want to fuck you, so it’s not a problem. I don’t get off on the idea of doing an older man. I’m not particularly attracted to you. I’m not particularly unattracted to you either. Someone might argue this is one of those life experiences you are supposed to go for.
You did call me a vixen that one time.
Is that supposed to make me feel good? Or feel guilty that I somehow made you think I was being flirtatious with a man who is old enough to be my father. Who’s son I have a thing for.
Shudder.

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I lost the only love note you ever gave me. It was the best love note I ever got. Most emotional. Most intense. Most real. Most true. I put it in the blue cup on my windowsill. At some point, I must have gotten worried it would fade in the sun, so I moved it to my box of notes. Under the bed. That must be what happened because the only other terrifying possibility is that my mom found it. Read it. And threw it away?

I had a confidence in our love that I have never been able to replicate. I was so sure that it was forever that I wasn’t jealous when you told me about girls you had crushes on. I wasn’t jealous when you went away to college and were surrounded by other women. Older women. More experienced women. I wasn’t jealous when you dated other women. Women you really liked a whole lot and had a lot of feelings for. It didn’t matter to me, because I knew we would ultimately be together. We had to be.

I almost feel like I wasn’t even jealous when you married her. I still didn’t think it was real.

Now I’m not sure if it was the best love note ever because I can’t reread it repeatedly. We didn’t have electronic archives of every emotion back then. We only had rereading the note until the corners were bent and the creases started permanently fading the ink. Maybe it was a horrible love note and you weren’t even that into me. It’s lost forever though now, so I’ll just never know. I guess getting jealous wouldn’t have helped, but perhaps it was foolish of me to not see. I sometimes feel more mournful about the lost note than the lost love. However brief, that emotion was real and spoken. Not lost forever.

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You transferred to my school halfway through the year and as soon as you sat down I said hello. You were different, you were pierced you were beautiful. It wasn’t until we were at the movies that you said you had a boyfriend, that hurt. At grad you took my breath away.

Now we are married to different people and basically don’t talk but here is the thing I NEVER forgot you. I was just not ready to be who I could be. Now I am becoming a better man and wish I could fly there and just kiss you.

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I stumbled upon the first set of emails I ever wrote you. Looking back at that old inbox, it seems like the only reason I created an email address when my college one expired was to email you. I was so nervous and excited and not yet forward at all. I wonder if they came across as desperate or weird or fawning or what. You must have thought I was a child. I would suggest that we see each other, which is a kind of strange thing to do since we barely knew each other. I offered that my friends and I would randomly be in the same state as you, and that probably meant we should all meet up.

Partly, it was before everyone had gmail and emailed each other constantly. You would say “I don’t really use this email thing much.” Partly it was just weird I was in touch with you. You would email me back months later and say “Great to hear from you!” and ignore my subtle and not subtle suggestions to actually see each other. I would talk about the snow and you would tell me about where you were living. They were more formal, in a way. Like how you would write a letter in the past, not an email today.

Now your curly brown hair is starting to turn grey. Now I know it’s understood we would never hang out except explicitly on your terms. Now I freely email you short, one sentence “what the fuck I love you” emails. You occasionally text me and it still makes my heart fall out of my chest, but now that so many years have gone by we have an understanding about what’s between us. All of your “what-ifs” would be very easily answered by a glance through my old emails to you. You probably thought I was nuts then, and maybe rightfully so. It didn’t happen because you didn’t want it then and it took you years to realize your love for me.

The email that you tell me you are moving in with your girlfriend is probably the most hilarious. You never had told me you had a girlfriend before, but I had already heard rumor of her. You say her name, which you never did to my face. My extra casual response is dripping with hidden terror. Like I knew that meant it was over. I would never have a chance to run and leap into your open arms. Never grab your greying hair as I kissed you without a childish nervousness. Never be able to say all the things I pretended to not be saying to you when I asked how the weather was treating you.

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I should have known better that all those beautiful things happening so fast to us 2 years ago weren’t okay. They seemed so wonderful – much too wonderful to be true. I was starting a new life full of hope, determination and optimism (and healed wounds also) and you just seemed what I was looking for. (Now I know I projected those things and you are actually just a big kid.) First, we got engaged, and then moved together. A few suspicious things, warning sings: I ignored/swallowed them. And they grew into crisis, accusation, almost-cheating, spying, therapy.

However, we got back on the track. I still had hopes for us. Sure you also had hopes because you used to call me Mrs. D. again. Otherwise, I don’t know what happened inside you because you hardly ever talked about yourself during this almost 2 years. You’ve always kept privacy too big for me about your past, about what you do during the day or when you’re staying up at night but especially about your feelings and inner world. You didn’t only hold back things, you lied. White lies, I know, but straight to my eyes and meanwhile claiming you’re always honest to me. You never really opened up yourself to me yet you wanted to marry me.

Summa summarum, I have grown tired. I should have known better that the harder I try, the more you close yourself.
Next time, I’ll be wiser.

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So this is off topic.
Off format.
Totally inappropriate use of this blog.

But I CANNOT HELP but post a link to these amazingly filthy letters from James Joyce to his wife, circa 1909.

Somehow it’s dirtier when it’s old and he’s seemingly proper.

Brilliant.

xox

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Remember when I smashed the back of my head and bled all over your $400 sheets? I forget about it until I run my fingers over the scar it left, a year later. Bad things always happened to me when I was with you. But they were always little bad things that ended up not mattering, and we always had so much fun. They could have mattered, I suppose. I could have died from my blunt trauma, but I didn’t, and we fucked all night instead. I could have had way more important things in my wallet when it was stolen, I could have gotten some sort of STD from you. I’m glad you found the love of your life – we could never have been anything to each other and that’s fine. We were just both filler. Fun placeholders. Which is why you didn’t need to block me on facebook. that was petty and i don’t understand it and it just irks me a little. I hope you just did it to make everything with your girl perfect. I can get behind that. Treat your girl right. I think you could be a really great husband, but I’m glad you’re not mine.

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