ohtheseas: (Default)
[personal profile] ohtheseas
 I threw something out today. 

When I was 17 and head-over-heels in love with a man ten years older than me, I got out and got drunk and felt so ill I wanted to throw up. I nearly did, almost crying as we sat on the steps of a faculty building of NYU while an angry drunk screamed at us. All the while I kept clicking a broken lock between my fingers, counting. The man I so adored, who sat there by my side doubtlessly wondering why he was spending his evenings with a 17-year-old girl and their common 25-year-old friend, noticed. He asked me where I found it, and I vaguely recalled walking past Silver Towers on Wooster St and snatching it from there.

I brought it back to Sweden with me.

An ex asked "how can I even compete with that love?", seeing my eyes shimmer as I thought of this man I never got to kiss. (I kicked him, punched him, hated him, raged at him, cried over him. I never kissed him.) I said "you can't", because he was a thousand ideas and ideals and dreams wrapped up in one, but not a man I could ever have or hold. I didn't even fantasize about sleeping with him, just being near him, kissing him, having a snatched month of intellectual bliss.

I confessed this to him on 34th Street, blood trickling down the inside of my thigh, sunburn on my chest. He said he knew, said it was impossible, and I was dazed and confused and hated everything and wanted to hate everyone. I cried and told everyone.

The first year was the worst. It got gradually better, then better still, then I realized a few months ago I barely think of him. He's still that stuff dreams are made of, but that which never materializes, that relationship you hinge imaginations on, thinking of what you could have had but thankfully never did. I am a disappointment when I date men, because I end up hating their semen, the smell of their dick, the way they groan when they come.

I threw out the lock today.

It didn't hurt.
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ohtheseas: (Default)
my name is everything

October 2012

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reading:

"We want to be loved; failing that, admired; failing that, feared; failing that, hated and despised. At all costs we want to stir up some sort of feeling in others. Our soul abhors a vacuum. At all costs it longs for contact." — Doctor Glas, Hjalmar Söderberg