Confessional: I love First Dates!

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I think I’m addicted to “first dates.”

Don’t laugh. Like I seriously have a problem. I love going out with someone for the first time. It’s all fresh and new, everyone is on their best behavior, there are rules. I get to be an unknown quantity… You know what I mean. Conversation is easy, you tell a funny story, they tell a funnier story, there’s usually food and, at the very least, alcohol involved. It’s one of my favorite things.

Here’s what most men don’t know: if we’ve had a few conversations and no awkward silences, I’m going to say yes if you ask me out. But, if we’ve had those conversations and it takes you a month to suggest getting together, I’m going to give you a hard time. I love decisiveness. I love when at the end of some giggly, long, super fun conversation, the guy says, hey what are you doing tomorrow? (Or Friday. Or this weekend.) and I say not too much. Then he says, hey let’s go to lunch or dinner or for a drink… That makes me smile.  It’s pretty simple. If you like me and you want to see me, LET ME KNOW. If I have to wait too long or worse, have to ask you to ask me to do something… *sigh* un-good.

Day 4. Poem. (February 2014 Writing Challenge)

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The Last Kiss

I saw your picture today
Your eyes
Your smile
Your lips
And realize that
You’re the last person I kissed
The last person I kissed
The last

The last person I kissed
With passion
And purpose
And love
The last person I kissed
That made my heart skip a beat
And my breath catch in my throat
And my smile begin from the inside
The last person I kissed
Whose voice touched every part of me
Whose laugh I felt was just for me
Whose smile made my day, every day
A kiss?
Just a kiss you say
Never just a kiss
Intimate and telling
Your energy breathing into mine
Creating a place for emotions
To blossom and grow
Setting the stage for connection
For knowledge beyond the physical
For now and for always
The last person I kissed
With passion
And purpose
And love

You’re the last person I kissed
The last person I kissed
The last
The last person I kissed
And meant it

I miss your kiss

~ @tenacious_virgo

 

Moments in Love (Open Letter)

(this began as a free write to sort of my feelings after a particularly cathartic moment for me. it snowballed into an open letter that I just emailed before I totally lost my nerve. now I’m all in my feelings.)

This is what I know.

I want a love of my own.
Singular.
Someone who wants me and no one else.
One.
I love you.
Yes.
You love me.
No question.
You are a good person.
You make me laugh.
I know your heart. It is good.
You’ve never judged me.
Never been cruel.
Never purposely caused me pain.
But you are not for me.
You don’t want me like I want you.
I was over you once.
I had gotten you out of my system for almost an entire year.
But you reached out.
I smiled.
I remembered.
And I was lonely.
And you and I are so good cocooned from the world.
In the basement with your shows.
In the kitchen with our banter and conversation.
And the sex.
It is great. For a little while it wasn’t. For me.
But it’s back again.
So this is what I know.
I love your lips and hands on me.
I love touching you, feeling you, hearing you.
And then when you lost your dad, and you asked for my help?
My heart opened up so wide for you.
The “I miss you” texts.
More moments spent wrapped up in you.
Anything to have a little more time.
One more moment.
But it isn’t enough.
You’re good at making me feel special.
But you are good at that with everyone.
Every woman you let into your space, your bed, your mouth…
She feels exactly the same way I do.
If today will be the day that you make her yours.
She wonders if you’ll finally choose her..
But you won’t.
And that uncertainty, that fear of not knowing, is so much more hurtful than any harsh words you could ever speak.
Which you never will, because you’re such a sweetheart.
I know.
I do.
I used to be JUST LIKE YOU.
Every man I spent time with felt that he was chosen, special.
They weren’t.
I mean, they were special IN THAT MOMENT.
And I was selfish.
Even though I was good.
Even though I made them smile.
And cooked them meals and rubbed their backs and opened my legs.
Even though I wrote them poems and shared my bed.
Even when I told them I loved them.
This is not what I think.
This is what I KNOW.
Love does not live in the moment.
Love does not survive sealed off from the world.
Love is not celebrated in tiny moments broken off with this person and that one.
Love is big.
Love is true.
Love is the total.
All.
Everything.
Love. Is. Everything.
Love is more than great sex and years, literal YEARS, of my precious life… allowing myself to believe “if I did just one more thing maybe he’d love me beyond this moment.”
I said I wouldn’t cry.
That I had no more tears for heartbreak.
But tonight I cried.
I cried.
I was angry with myself.
But I forgive me.
Even in my anger, I have compassion for this tenacious heart of mine.
I know her intricacies.
She means well.
It is but a human heart.
A little bruised, but good.
And this is still what I know.
I love you.
I do.
But in this moment.
I love me more.
I have to.
I’ll never get to the love I deserve if I’m always waiting for the next moment with you.
When it comes to love, I want everything.

I am Mary Jane: Being Mary Jane and the Science of Serial Disappointment

Soooo… I’ve never seen Being Mary Jane. At all.
Until tonight.
I am in tears. My eyes started welling up at the end of the very first episode.

I’m so sick of men… Seriously.

I have had the craziest week. I have so many stories I can’t even begin the process of the act of writing them down.

I’m sitting here trying to figure out why I started crying and I think it’s that I know how she feels. I know that feeling of wanting something so much and feeling happy about it only to find out you were so damn wrong about the situation you’ve invested all this time and energy in… It’s heartbreaking. And you don’t immediately heal or deal JUST because you are a strong black woman. Or smart. Or capable. Or sane. My potential and capacity for a true and loving relationship is so warped due to this cracked, faded and broken heart.

Why is this so hard? Why? Love is not supposed to be hard. I know this. I’ve never really witnessed it, but I know it. I can’t count how many times I’ve been Mary Jane. Caught up in a whirlwind of laughter and ease and good sex and pillow talk and comfort… For days or weeks or months at a time. Then one day, it dissipates, vanishes. And all the assurances you give yourself, all the things you do to build yourself up to believe that finally, this time, this man, this love, will be the one… It all comes crashing down. Our hearts and psyches are not built for this. The continuous rise and fall of these relationships create such a dysfunctional framework for this shaky, fragile foundation.

My tears are not solely for this fictitious Mary Jane.
I am crying for the “Mary Jane” in me as well.

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