Bumble is the Worst

I've been the Queen of Tinder for years.

I wear my crown proudly. 

So when a girlfriend told me about this dating site called Bumble, I wasn't so sure. 

But out with the old, as they say, and why the fuck not.

What did I have to lose?

So I've been on for... a week?

And so far I've encountered more condescending, self serving arrogant mother fuckers than all my years on Tinder combined. 

What the hell is wrong with you Rumble?

I've renamed it because I mistakenly keep calling it Rumble anyway. And Bumble is a pretty stupid name anyway. 

I talked to one guy and we started to make plans to meet up. 

And since I'm always in the city, I suggested a bar I heard was supposed to be good. 

To which he responded, umm, can you come to Beaverton?

I should preface this with earlier in our flirtatious banter he said he would meet me "anywhere you want."

So to suddenly be a square on the whereabouts of our rendezvous was a buzz kill. 

And since I didn't want to meet at a Mcmennamins in Beaverton, as those are literally the only bars in suburbia that exist, I simply wrote that I was in the city tonight and perhaps we could meet another night. 

To which HE responded, Well you have to come back at some point right?

Eew.

It's not the not wanting to drive to northeast Portland I don't understand. 

Some people don't constantly drive into the city like I do, I get it. 

It was the dipshit tone he used and as mother always says, this is a man on his best behavior, it only goes downhill from here. 

So his best behavior was, Umm, I don't like to spend gas money on pussy.

Blegh.

Next. 

Next mother fucker, maybe I should rename the app mother fucker because that is actually fairly accurate, and he seems flirty and fun, so we make plans to meet up spontaneously --which I love, by the bye, what are you doing right now? Let's meet.--But then he's like, send me a pic?

Send you a pic?

There are five on my profile, asshole.

And I'm thinking, ok, men are visual, maybe he thinks he's being flirty, so I just say, You won't be able to miss me in my pink lace dress. 

To which he responds, I won't believe it without a pic. 

Uuuuuggggghhhhhhh.

So you know what I said because I give absolutely NO fucks?

I said, You know, I just wanted to get laid tonight and you've totally taken the fun out of it. 

And he wrote some dick response about being cat fished before and wanting to make sure he wasn't "wasting his time" and I should get over myself. 

I have never encountered such difficulty on Tinder. 

On Tinder you talk, you make plans to meet and you meet. 

And sometimes, you fuck.

But it's not so fucking difficult. 

And you know what? 

I'm not gonna hold your fucking hand through this process. 

Yeah, sometimes maybe people won't be as hot in their pictures when you sit across from them at the bar. 

That's part of the risk you take in participating in this dating game. 

Just like I, and every poor bitch out there, takes a risk when she agrees to go home with you. 

Maybe you have a tiny dick. 

Maybe you won't know how to use the average sized dick you do have.

Maybe you'll high five me after sex or tell me to move down the bed because you don't want me to hit my head and you're gonna be Jack Rabbit the Sequel. 

But I don't get to ask you to whip it out and show me at the dinner table. 

I have to take a fucking risk and just go for it. 

Because dating is a gamble. 

And if I have to put up with so much then you can fucking drive to the bar I want to meet and deal with the profile pictures as your only gauge of how fucking gorgeous I am. 

I don't have the energy to put up with this shit. 

So I unmatched both the fuckers and I even unmatched another asshole I was supposed to meet tonight simply for the constant borderline creepy messages he sent me. 

Are you not wearing a bra in that one picture and did you blur out your nipples?

Wow. 

Fucking wow. 

Now that I know you've already been jerking off to me I'll pass on cocktails. 

Those rights are exclusively lover only. 

Or at least be a fucking perv in private. 

Let me have the delusion that you're a gentleman before the disappointing sex. 

Is that really so much to ask??

the cost of being a unicorn

I'm not sure I always trust timing. 

I certainly never understand it. 

I suppose I should. 

Trust it, that is.

I guess I can buy the whole things working out for a reason and if it's not meant to be let it go it will come back if it is.

But you know that all feels like a lotta bullshit to try to soften the blow that sometimes things just get fucking messed up.

And sometimes I really just think that's poor decision making on their part. 

Or my part. 

But we're obviously talking about his mistakes here. 

Naturally.

I am definitely someone who responds to people's actions. 

That's ridiculous. 

Everyone responds. 

Then if everyone responds, I really respond. 

Like, the normal reaction would be to plan another date, I'll plan six dates. 

I'm an extremist in response. 

So when he told me he had to follow his heart and ditch me to pursue some other vagina, I hopped back on Tinder for the first time in weeks.

And I made a few dates. 

And the day I hopped back on to Tinder I made a date for that same night. 

With a married couple. 

I've been curious for awhile and the idea of being the guest star in some couple's bed has always seemed like a fantasy I was made for, considering I've been the other woman for many a fool and also, I'm a star, bitch.

I've never been with a woman before and adding a man to the mix seemed the best way to test those waters, a little something old with something new. 

I was excited for my date and a little nervous but mostly excited and excited for how adventurous I was being when it had only been a few days since I'd heard from him and his I just don't know how to respond to you right now and if he didn't know he would never know because after a year of missing me if you're not falling all over yourself writing a love song to win me back then this isn't what I thought it was anyway.

So I put my energy into someone new. 

We met at my favorite bar and I wore my favorite little sequin velvet dress and when I walked in some ladies asked if I was performing. 

No, I just have a date.

You look amazing, they gushed, and it was just the little ego boost I needed for my night of potential debauchery.

I didn't really know what to expect but when they got there and we all started talking it felt more like we were long lost friends catching up then anything saucy or scandalous. 

She was quirky and adorable and they both laughed at my stupid jokes and he was sweet and made lingering eye contact and I felt comfortable and excited. 

We made plans to meet again that week and after some goodnight kissing outside the bar I left, giddy.

And if I'd never been rejected by the kid I thought I could fall in love with I never would have gone back on Tinder and met this incredible couple who just happened to be in town for two weeks. 

Timing. 

And the next night I messaged him, the ex love, and he actually called me, Men still call? And it was nice to talk, though a little bit weird and we ended up talking for two hours in the middle of the night, which made it even stranger, Men talk on the phone for two hours? 

And I told him that if he'd never followed his heart to do what he needed to do I never would have had this other experience, an experience I think I kinda needed to have. 

And then he suddenly chimed in, Oh that. That fell apart the moment I made the decision.

I was silent.

What??

Yeah, that didn't work out. It actually didn't work out because of you. Because she found out about you.

More silence.

It took him like twenty, thirty minutes to share this and to say I was stunned would be an understatement. 

Why would she care you were sleeping with me? Were you ever actually broken up??!

Yes, but she already had an issue with you from before, she knew about you last year and knew I had feelings for you and--never mind, I shouldn't be talking to you about this. 

Umm. Yes you should! I deserve to know the truth.

Well who knows, if you'd never come to my concert, maybe things could have worked out. I guess we both had a strong impact on each other's lives.

I don't know what to say, was all I could get out. 

I genuinely didn't know what to say. 

I went to him that night. 

Even though I didn't know what was gonna happen. 

I didn't even know what I wanted to happen. 

But we were drawn to each other, like two little lost souls clinging to one another in the dark. 

And it felt incredible, the electricity once again dancing on my skin from being so near him.

And I didn't understand what timing this was. 

Or would be.

And when I left early in the morning he was too tired to even open his eyes to look at me. 

And then I never heard from him again. 

And I knew I probably never would. 

Pin Me Up

I believe in timing. 

I believe in truth.

I believe in the tiniest changes making monumental differences. 

You used to dress up all the time, my manager told me last week.

I was wearing leggings and a hoodie. 

I rarely paint my nails anymore. 

I'd sort of divided my life into two. 

The life I led at night.

And then I'd go through the motions in a fog at work. 

If I had more plans for the next night I'd set my hair on my lunch break and finish my makeup when I got off work. 

I couldn't tell you the last time I wore any jewelry. 

I haven't been myself for awhile. 

I don't really know when that happened. 

Or even why. 

But late Sunday night, as I flipped through the pages of Your Beauty Mark I suddenly knew what I needed to do.

I went into the bathroom and started setting my hair.

Pincurls, bobby pins zig zagged across my head. 

I used to go to sleep in pincurls every night, or every other night depending on how the curl set.

But I never did it anymore. 

So this night, with my little mermaid shower cap covering the soon to be curls on my head, I painted my nails my favorite shade of red. 

And the next day, I made myself get up earlier than I wanted, and I put on one of the dresses I was so excited about last year when pinup girl clothing was having a sale, and I tied an old shirt at my waist and paired it with a belt I loved and left the house with my red lipstick already on. 

And I felt like myself again. 

After work I ran some errands. 

A boy on a bike rode past me, his eyes following me as he continued to ride past. 

You've got that pin up look going, it works for ya, he said.

I smiled and thanked him as he was nearly out of ear shot by then. 

And I took myself out for dinner and the waitress told me I was so adorable and she just loved my look. 

Are you going to an event or is this just how you dress?

And I smiled and said, This is just how I dress. 

And it was such a small difference. 

Remembering to do the things that make me happy, that make me feel like me. 

That make me feel beautiful. 

And the photographer I shot with a month ago was such a random happenstance.

But was another reminder how much I love old Hollywood style. 

That's its who I am.

And because of those few shots which I honestly just wanted to make one particular fool miss me, it led to another shoot and connecting with other photographers.

And I even applied for a modeling site and was accepted. 

I got a Tinder match yesterday who is actually a photographer using the site to network. 

And he wants to shoot. 

And it's my look. 

My look they want to shoot.  

My pinup, old hollywood, film noir, glamorous look.

That I'd forgotten was so important to me. 

And it's just fashion. 

And just makeup and hairspray.

But it's me. 

It's an extension of my spirit.

My shine.

And experiences are worth having and there are some nights you need to go home at two in the morning and sleep for four hours. 

Because those nights are some of the most unforgettable. 

But most nights, most nights I want to listen to Peggy Lee before bed as I set my hair and choose the dress I want to wear in the morning. 

And everything else will fall into place. 

Because when I'm actually being myself, the epic connections will come to me. 

Maybe my next great love will even be a photographer. 

To be some man's muse?

Sweet bliss, yes. 

That's your cue, Batman

I talked to my Mom about you last night. 

I told her even though it's really fucked up I wish I could just be with you.

You're the only one who knows how incredibly fucked up I am and still thinks the sun shines out my ass. 

And that really is worth a lot isn't it?

I told someone how I wrote a really mean blog about you when I was mad once and you told me I was a good writer. 

I wrote hateful, shitty things and you responded by telling me I was talented. 

Fuck, I want a love like that in my life. 

I told you I always think about you when some guy has broken my heart. 

It really is kinda broken. 

I actually thought about doing coke last week. 

I didn't. 

I won't, cuz we all know how crazy addictive my personality is. 

Just dicks and whiskey, that's enough of an addiction for me. 

And sometimes cigarettes. But only when I'm already drunk. Cuz sometimes it's just like, fuck. Ya know?

You were there that night all those months ago, the night I was all butt hurt he had a girlfriend. 

It actually feels kinda ridiculous to be hurting over him again. 

How did we figure it out?

Pining for each other in a way that somehow still let us feel free to live without each other?

I guess that's what makes our screwed up connection so beautiful. 

He follows my posts like you. 

Reads my blog. 

I'm pretty sure he blocked my number again but he's never blocked me on facebook and I'm sure he never will. 

He likes to watch me. 

Who does that sound like? My mom asked me. 

Batman, I said. 

I guess that's why my brain thought he was supposed to be something great, you know?

His worship kinda felt like the way you look at me. 

But he always ends up cutting me out.

He won't communicate. 

And you would never do that. 

And it really calms my spirit knowing you're out there somewhere, rooting for me, sending me love in quiet moments when no one's looking. 

Everyone says it's not supposed to be this hard. 

Love. 

Makes me feel like I must be doing something wrong. 

Love always feels fucking hard. 

I love too much, I guess. 

Scare the shit out of everyone. 

I miss you. 

But sometimes I pretend I'm driving behind you. 

Or that you're gonna be waiting at the top of the stairs when I'm on a run. 

And we'll see each other and smile, and you'll give me a hug and squeeze me hard. 

And then we'll walk away and look back at each other. 

Because some things are never over. 

Even if they can never be. 

And I don't know why him and I can't send each other love late at night the way you and I can. 

But I don't think he ever loved me the way you did. 

But I wanted him to. 

And that's a start, right?

Believing in love. 

Believing in a connection strong enough to withstand years and separation and other bodies in our beds. 

I guess I just wanted to say I was thinking of you. 

And I wanted to thank you. 

For being the only man I've ever loved who didn't shut me out and run away. 

I will always love you for that.

Six years and counting, darling. 

Thank heaven some things remain when everything else surrounding me is in constant change. 

it's never over

I'm really glad I write. 

I'm glad for a lot of reasons but I'm specifically glad I write my pain. 

The point of keeping a diary is to remember things as they happen.

To let out whatever hope or rage or confusion is plaguing us.

And getting it out, writing it down helps me process my demons so they can be released. 

What's happening right now is a pattern. 

It's not new. 

It's not creative or even special. 

It's exactly what's already happened.

Only it's more fucking complex because he actually let me in this time. 

Maybe that's why the push back feels so much harder to accept. 

I looked back over last years entries, when we broke up and then it seemed we might reconcile and then we didn't and then he cut me out and it was over for good. 

And then this year, and things ended and then it seemed we might reconcile and then he cut me out and I suppose it's once again over for good. 

Every time he has let me in, emotionally, every time we've had conversations where we talk on the phone for hours, when he has confessed things he's never told me before, every time I get close to him in any intense way, he always pushes me away. 

Always.

I could plot a graph of the events that have happened between us and it's always the same. 

The times we were physically intimate things were fine. 

But when things got emotionally intimate, he'd cut me out and I wouldn't hear from him for weeks. 

Months. 

And now, who knows, probably years. 

It shouldn't, but it baffles me because he had a girlfriend for like, two years before me, and some other one for like nine months after?

So he surely must be capable of emotional intimacy or his relationships would never last so long. 

But for some reason with me. 

With me, I am always kept at arms length. 

And he left me this time with someday i'll tell you the truth but i can't right now.

I suppose I should tell myself I'm...special?

Other girls he actually has relationships with but me, it's all so fucked up and weird it like, can't be dealt with. 

Yeah, I don't think so. 

I can't buy it. 

I think it's actually very simple:

He doesn't love me. 

But he knows I love him. 

And there's comfort in that, for him.

It's healing for his soul to let in the love that always poured from my eyes. 

And then since he knew he couldn't love me back he'd always shut me out. 

I don't think it's as fucked up as it sounds. 

I think broken people just cling to anything to stay afloat. 

And I was always there. 

My heart. 

He knew I would love him when the world rejected him.

The strange part is, since I've learned more about myself, since I've discovered more about sex and had more partners since him than I ever had before him, he would have been surprised to discover I would have actually been okay filling a void.

I would have been able to take the poetry he spoke in bed and processed it with appreciation for the moment but understood he really meant none of it. 

I would have never spent the night or given him exclusivity. 

I would have told him about the good dates and the funny dates I was going on. 

I would have referred to him as buddy instead of lover. 

But part of his seduction, his charm, his game is that he believes himself a romantic. 

Which is such a contradiction in terms because romantics are genuine. 

Romantics mean everything they do and say to the very core of their being. 

Charmers and flirts are insincere. 

They use their whiles to achieve a goal, not because if they don't express the essence of their heart it would be unsettling. 

But because they want something from someone. 

It's a means to an end. 

Rather than the need to express truth.

Truth, beauty, freedom and love. 

He is not a romantic. 

He is an opportunist. 

And you know, it's fine because we're all fucked up and we all need to abuse something to survive.

And I get it. 

But I told my new lover how it is and what I'm about and that I'm not into sleepovers because I'm honest and transparent and fucking genuine. 

I would never play him a song and tell him he was the only one I'd played that for in seven years just to try and emotionally manipulate him. 

Just because I could. 

You don't toy with people for sport. 

You're honest about the fact you're fucked up and lost and missing the girl who dumped you. 

And thinking that losing yourself in my flesh would be a much needed distraction and you'd even enjoy yourself in spite of yourself. 

And you'd be happy to know I was mostly excited to explore sex with you because that was the only level we really connected on and maybe this could be a chapter in sexploration and self discovery together and we'd leave this changed, for the better. 

And it wouldn't be sad when things ended because what we'd shared would have been genuine and transparent and completely fucking real.

Instead of a hazy ambiguity of half truths and many lies leaving me feeling used and regretful. 

This is the oath of an ethical slut. 

One who knows how to take and enjoy without leaving someone depleted. 

I had what may be a one night stand, we still talk so who knows if we'll ever hook up again, and it was one of the most wonderful encounters with any lover I've ever had. 

Because there was truth and communication and it was so fucking genuine I felt comfortable spending the night with him, falling asleep in his arms, simply because of how he was with me. 

I never do that. 

Which is why I regret allowing myself that vulnerability with one who abused me. 

Someone as experienced in the ways of sex and women and relationships, someone who no longer has the excuse of being 28 (the most fucked up age any boy ever is) should really know better. 

He should work on his bedside manner and not trick women into believing he's sincere. 

He should be clear about his intentions and not send I miss you texts in the middle of the night. 

He should communicate. 

But he won't. 

And he never has. 

And it was a relief to remember this is exactly how he treats me when I get too close. 

Something about my skin near his makes him want to open up and tell me the most fucked up thoughts in his mind. 

And then something about me possessing such knowledge makes him want to never talk to me again. 

I am a good lover. 

I am voracious and insatiable. 

I am open and uninhibited. 

And I deserve,

no,

demand,

a partner who honors such openness, such curiosity and appetite with fucking consistency and communication. 

No more fucking games. 

I'm almost 35 for fucks sake. 

I don't have time for lost boys who both worship and despise me. 

I need a man who knows how to use my body, who will open up to me if he's comfortable letting me in, and who when it's ended, when our time together has halted, will respect the sanctity of my body, my well being, my spirit, with a communicative, honest farewell. 

A romantic doesn't disappear. 

A man who cares doesn't ignore. 

A man who loves me doesn't hurt me in the exact same way he already knows shattered my intense heart. 

I don't regret being the force that I am. 

But I do regret putting my body in the hands of one who has no respect for it, no care, no appreciation. 

I was an epic fool. 

how loud your heart gets

The happiest night this month seemed such an accident. 

I guess that's the truth with a lot of great joy.

You happen upon it so unexpectedly, the surprise is part of the charm. 

I had plans with someone else. 

It was coloring night and I had invited a boy (first ever boy to be invited to coloring night, epic shit).

And then my girlfriend texted me about a show.

Some band I'd never heard of but when I looked their songs up online they sounded rad. 

Fuck, I wanna go!

But what about coloring night?

I texted the guy and told him I was going to see a show instead because live music trumps everything. 

And I felt like the cool kids after downloading venmo and got my ticket and was stoked. 

When I got to the venue a girl walked up to me and told me I was stunning. 

I love women like you, she said. 

And I interpreted that to mean women who wear sequin dresses and red lipstick to a divey venue on a Monday night.  

I love women like me too.

My friends were running late so I planted myself amidst the crowd, listening to the opening band. 

The singer was incredible. 

Being there was incredible. 

I forgot how alive being at concerts made me feel. 

I suddenly felt 24 and hopeful. 

Sometimes I enjoyed being alone. 

My friend texted me they were downstairs having a drink but I wanted to keep hearing the band. 

I didn't want to be anywhere else.

The band finished and I went and joined my friends. 

By then the place was packed and we nearly had to play a game of Marco Polo to find one another. 

After an hour or so alone I was happy my friend was standing across from me smiling. 

Their excitement was infectious and even though I'd only heard thirty seconds of one of the bands songs I was excited too. 

The concert was incredible and it wasn't surprising that I ended up making my way to the souvenir table to snag one of the CDs. 

The band encored their encore and it was that euphoric state where it seemed the concert would never end and we'd just stay arm in arm, swaying and singing to the music, not a care in the world, not a thought other than pure enjoyment. 

A couple began to walk past me and I looked into the face of the girl and realized who it was. 

Dawn! I suddenly yelled, her face more stunned than mine. 

It was the girl who almost exactly a year ago I had fallen out with, right on the heels of getting dumped by both my lover and best friend. 

Things happen in threes so she was the last one in that trio of disappointment to remove me from her life. 

I'd messaged her for the first time just a week or so before asking if she wanted to grab a drink sometime. 

But she'd never written me back. 

And now here she was, standing in front of me, and the fact she was there flooded my heart and I threw my arms around her and hugged her. 

We talked for a minute and I said it was good to see her and she said I looked pretty. 

And I hugged her again. 

I held on to her so tight and for so long, I didn't even realize how much I needed to hug her, how much my heart needed to feel connected to her until my arms were around her. 

Her husband must have seen the overflow of love surging through me because he came up to me and hugged me after I'd finished hugging Dawn. 

They left and I felt this wave of peace wash over me. 

Who was that? My friend asked. 

That was the girl who broke up with me because she didn't think I was a good listener and she thought I was a bad friend. And I hadn't seen her in a year. 

Oh my gosh, my friend said. 

I looked deep into her eyes and said, Thank you for not breaking up with me. 

And she wrapped her arm around me and said, I could never break up with you.

And the music played on and we kept our arms wrapped tightly around each other and I felt so happy. 

I could have missed this. 

I could be at another bar with other people in some other moment. 

But I was here. 

And experienced that moment. 

And sometimes the deepest needs of our hearts do come true, at the moments we'd forgotten all about them. 

a fortuitous text

Right now, it feels like there's this boulder on your chest. And it's suffocating you. But every day, that boulder is going to get smaller. And one day it's gonna be small enough, it's gonna be this tiny rock that you're gonna put it in your pocket. And you'll forget about it. But then there will be some days you'll reach your hand into your pocket and you'll feel it. Because you'll always carry it with you. It will always be a part of your story. 

And as she said that last line I finally broke down. 

And sobbed. 

They weren't beautiful streaming tears.

I wept, shaking. 

She got up and sat beside me and wrapped her arms around me. 

I hadn't cried like this over him in so long. 

It felt comforting to finally have the release. 

To accept that it was always going to be a part of me, the sweet pain.

Eventually it wouldn't be so fresh and the sting wouldn't be the prevailing feeling on my heart.

Why does it have to end like this? Why couldn't we have just parted on good terms?

Because, she said, you needed to destroy it so there wasn't this lingering feeling in the back of your minds. You guys needed to come together and things needed to fall apart so they would be finished.

I wanted to accept that as the truth.

But the hope in my heart, hidden in a dark corner, still believed this wasn't really our end. 

There are a lot of things my heart just won't ever accept. 

 

We left and as I was stepping into my car I glanced at my phone.

I saw a text. 

Hey. Just got home....

It was my new lover. 

The one who helped me forget my ex lover never loved me. 

I got in my car and looked at my reflection in the mirror. 

Black mascara smeared around my eyes. 

My fake lashes were falling off so I peeled them off. 

I looked like a wreck. 

I sighed. 

You should go home, I thought. You should be strong alone. You shouldn't use sex to forget about him.

And then I looked at my reflection deeper and thought, But I Love. Sex. And I want it. Now. 

I drove to his house and his neighborhood looked familiar so late in the night. 

Those east side houses all look the same. 

It's all the same in the dark. 

I was surprised how happy I felt seeing his smiling face at the door. 

I guess I really did need to see him. 

Specifically, him.

We went upstairs and as my head was on the pillow, his lips on mine, my head began to spin. 

I breathed deeply and pulled away.  

I'm dizzy, I whispered. 

You ok? He asked. You want some water?

No, and I just rolled toward him and buried my face in his chest. 

You want a little coke? He asked. 

To my surprise, I calmly replied, No, I'm ok, like he'd just offered me a little ice cream or a little tea.

It's strange how in the right timing things that would bother you suddenly don't matter at all. 

He was simply trying to make me feel better the ways he knew how. 

And that felt nice. 

How was your day? I mumbled. 

Not so great. My boss has really been on my case. I broke up with my girlfriend three months ago and ever since things have been....

I closed my eyes as he went on, breathing deeply as the vibrations echoed in my ear. 

His voice was so deep.

It made him sound big and important like some narrator in some film. 

I liked hearing him talk. 

He was open and honest. 

He'd gone on a bender months back. 

He talked to me like I was someone who'd been in his life for years. 

No filter, no pretense, just...real.

Can I tell you something? I finally broke from my reverie. It's really nice to know I'm not the only one whose fucked up.

And I finally opened my eyes and looked up at him. 

He smiled. 

There they are, he said. There are those beautiful eyes. 

I melted. 

Sleepy, happy, melted.

In to him.

And after as we lay there in a haze, I felt calm.

I've exhausted so much energy on seeking answers, understanding, reconciliation, rage.

I felt so depleted, like that light within me had vanished. 

And it really only took a sideways smile from a lover to remind me how full of life I am.

And maybe that's wrong. 

But that's my coke.

And we all need some way to cope with the debilitating disappointments of life. 

And I knew, wherever he was, whatever new girl he had in his arms, whatever high in his hands and on his tongue, my ex lover was coping too.

And maybe when we both happen to be looking at the sky searching for the stars behind the clouds, we might even reach into our pockets simultaneously, and remember each other. 

Far away, but somehow forever present.

Hot Mess

I am such a mess right now. 

And not in a cool way like that Monday I rolled into work with the same fake lashes I'd put on the night before in that hot little sequin dress that I magically don't have to wear a bra with.

Like, fuck, right?

Have you seen these mangoes outside of a bra??

No, I'm a mess like all of the food in my fridge is food that should be thrown away. 

There are eggs in there I don't know how old they are. 

I'll be like, yeah, I'm cooking.

Look at me fry an egg. 

I'm domestic and shit. 

Like that time I made pasta for that ass hat who then wasn't even hungry and so we just fucked. 

Actually that was kinda hot, like, I'm hungrier for your pussy than your pasta. 

Shit, did I just write the Olive Garden's new slogan?

And then my egg frying lasts all of a week but I live alone so I didn't eat the whole dozen eggs and then I remember how much I really hate cooking so I go back to going out to eat all the time and then one day I open my fridge and I'm like, I still have eggs? 

When did I even buy these?

And I realize there is nothing edible in my apartment. 

Literally no fucking food. 

So I text like, everyone I know. 

Cuz the sweet guy I was supposed to meet had to cancel cuz he's going out of town tomorrow. 

Safe travels, dude, see you next week, maybe. 

And the sober kid texted me Tea with me tonight??

And ugh, god, tea, eck, I'd rather DIE so I lied and said I was busy because I wanted to DRINK and you can't tell that to an alcoholic cuz then you're THAT ASSHOLE but seriously how can I even be dating a guy whose sober am I supposed to have coitus after my jasmine tea?

Gross. 

So no one normal who will drink with me is answering my texts ARE YOU ALL HAVING SEX SERIOUSLY WHY CANT ANYONE HANG OUT WITH ME

So then I remember that bar five minutes from my house has the best Cobb salad ever and I'll just take myself on a date and it's well drink Tuesday so my whiskey's only $2.50

Two fifty?! I don't even care what it tastes like

And yeah this is great I got my whiskey and my headphones and I'm gonna watch my show using my friends Hulu account but then I realize my phone's about to die cuz I spent so much time composing a seriously what the fuck message to that seriously fucked fuck face and also I was probably on Instagram and Facebook WAY too much cuz sometimes a girls gotta multi task at the office 

So then I have to give my phone to the waitress to charge so then I have no show but I do have my Cobb and I order another drink cuz two fifty whiskey whoooo

But the bartender walks away and forgets my crappy whiskey and starts helping other people and giving those happy people their beers and shitty whiskey and I just sit there with no phone and no whiskey and feel like WHY IS EVERYONE REJECTING ME 

And then I get home and climb into bed in my underwear and my cat looks at me disapprovingly and I want sugar now like right now but there is no sugar no chocolate candy nothing because there's no food in my apartment because I am a hot mess and I'm so angry that I don't have sugar and angry he doesn't love me and I just want to kill him and then I want him to come back to life so I can kill him again 

And seriously what the fuck why hasn't he texted me 

I'm not even pmsing I'm just seriously such a fucking hot mess right now

I need to get laid.

in My eyes

I love my skin.

I am pale like the columns in Alicante.

Foundation is hard to come by but I can wear any hair color. 

Because I'm alibaster porcelain ivory

Fair

Oh so very fair.

I love my face

That smile 

Those hypnotizing blue eyes

You once told me,

You're so beautiful when you're being sincere

But dear,

I am always sincere

And so must then always be

Beautiful

I love how unfiltered I am

Open 

Recklessly communicative

Rigorously honest

Forthcoming

Intense love

When I love

It consumes

Delights but never overwhelms me

I love you

Of course I do

Always have

In spite of you must continue

But love in abundance

Incessantly

Freely

More than you and you alone

I fucking love my sex drive

No one

Never

Any

Ever

Has kept up with my body 

You promised excess and made overtures

Plans to conquer my flesh in public stadiums 

In front of mirrors while tearing my skirts clad in a bow tie

But with you it's all words

Dead meaningless words

Meaning nothing of what you say words

None of any of it not one scene

But your icy distance 

I fucking live my words

I always say what I mean

Mean what I feel

Hate

Rage

Lust

Trust

Love

Oh, aching endless love

Me

I trust my instincts 

Boundaries 

I believe in my heart 

And the energy 

I've created

It's felt

Received

And I compel 

Intrigue 

Please the eyes of strangers

So many smiling strangers

Who have and will 

And to my sheer delight 

Continue

To devour my skin my essence 

My journey 

Sexplorative study

The very core you so detest

Wretched waste of my precious time

I love all that I am

Even the parts that will you to vanish

No, cry

Weep for every choked breath you racked my heart

For each time I fought back the dry heaves of anxiety 

No other has caused

Would that I could time travel 

I'd step back into that red dress, 

To that pavement outside that bar

That curse'd fucking bar

And as you leaned down to kiss me

I would stop 

And quietly say No

No, broken one,

Your toxic dance must play without my song

And I would walk away, and smile,

Never turning around to see you dumbfounded, stunned

If I had one moment in time I'd take back my body 

My luscious vibrant body 

The light you nearly devoured in me

And I'd go home

To the life I loved before you

The life I'm reassembling after you

The woman I was am still 

In love with 

As I am

All I am

Never again allowing your poison to darken my glowing skin.

in your eyes

To you

I am a body

I am my ass

And my tits

I am the porn star you get off to

I am something you try to forget 

The choice that ruined your hearts true course

The temptation who destroyed your second chance

To you

I am a pest 

I won't be silenced when I'm told

Each word I write increases your disdain

Because my soul is unappealing

To you

I am not a beautiful woman 

in your vacant eyes

Until you're high

Intoxicated

Delirious

And then I'm the only one you want

I am an object

A thing you push off the bed asleep

One who should perform differently

And increase her technique like a good whore

Bad bad woman

Goddammit woman

Now I've displeased you more

You cut me out

Until the chemical haze makes you need more of me again

To you

I am nothing 

I am no one

No fucking deal

I am flesh and curves and pussy

Perfect little pussy

Except when it speaks

Hush now

I didn't say you could stop

Ride it baby

That's a good girl

To you

I might as well be any/body 

Any female willing form

Middle of the night delivery

Satisfy the empty urgency

To you

I am your guiltiest addiction

Shame

Mistake

Reminder of all that is fucked up

Flawed

Feigned

Pure sex

Violent carnal urge

Hand over my mouth so sound will just shut the fuck up

Then leave

Just fucking leave

You're not the one

But other

Some other dirty woman

Listen to this song 

I'll never write again for you

Hear this poem 

You're too dense to understand 

Watch this video

Someone who does everything 

Just

Like

You 

To you

I am nothing

Worthless unlovable nothing

Pathetic undeserving could never respect me nothing

No hug no words no calls no truths

Just nothing

I'm fucking nothing

To you

I could disappear

Nothing 

No one

Never

Anyone

Other than wrong

Hideously, horrid, painfully wrong

Me

To you 

Failed 

Fucking woman

Never uglier

Never so unwanted and destroyed

Than when your broken mouth ensnared mine 

If Tinder were Honest

I'll probably fuck you on the first date. 

If you buy me nachos and tell me I'm pretty. 

I probably won't spend the night because that makes me really uncomfortable. 

And I don't want to lose myself in the moment in your arms because you're probably still in love with your ex. 

And you're gonna wait to admit this until I hand you all control because you're probably a bit of a sadist and I'm not as masochistic as I pretend to be. 

I don't know what I'm looking for other than sex. 

I'm supposed to say I'm looking for love and I do believe it exists in abundance. 

But I don't know that my wild heart is ready to be tamed or can be, for anyone. 

Certainly not some stranger I've spent three hours with. 

I am more comfortable than you are on this date. 

On any date. 

I've been single most of my life. 

I'm good at it. 

I don't know how to be any version of a female you need me to be. 

I will overwhelm you.  

And I will intimidate you. 

And I will want sex more than you do. 

I will always want to drink and fuck and walk under the stars. 

And I won't be surprised when I don't hear from you again. 

And I will feel guilty about how okay I am when it ends. 

Or how I won't remember your name in a year. 

And your friend whose at the same bar as us is going to recognize me from Tinder. 

Because no one looks like me. 

And there must be few who are anything like me. 

And if you took my hand during our date I will pull it away. 

But if you buy me brunch the next morning I will let you hold it as we walk. 

And it will be the happiest I've felt in years. 

I may text you again some night when I'm lonely. 

When some other date I'm leaving has me dissatisfied. 

And this time I will care when you don't text me back. 

Because sometimes I'm not strong. 

Sometimes I want someone to hold my face in his hands and say I Love You.

Because it's been a long time. 

And I'm not sure I remember what that feels like. 

To be around a man who isn't running away from me. 

But I won't expect that from you. 

Pipe dreams aren't my style. 

I don't know what to do with it when I get my hearts desire. 

I always drive them away anyway. 

I'd rather laugh and climax and have a story to tell. 

When our moment has already begun to fade. 

someday i will tell you the truth but not today

You let me into a tiny corner. 

A dark space I've never occupied before. 

I don't even think you meant to or planned for it to happen.

But my skin was near yours and something about the energy between us made you want to let me in further. 

And it wasn't overwhelming. 

I felt calm.

And quiet. 

(Me? Fucking quiet??)

Silent. 

I whispered your name so softly I'm not sure you even heard it. 

And I feel greedy for wanting more. 

Wanting to see the rest of the dark caverns buried beneath your smile.  

But it is maddening to be let in so far and then violently shut out. 

Again.

I am too familiar with this dance. 

It shouldn't be so comfortable but it is. 

It's not even surprising. 

Is it possible to find comfort in chaos?

To feel uncertainty is our natural state?

When all was bliss, when you kept making plans to see me again when I was still in your bed, it felt unreal.

Like I was in a trance. 

High.

And I kept nodding and letting you lead me by the hand to wherever you wanted us to go but a part of me was always outside watching what was happening. 

Because I never fully believed it was real.

Because how could it be when it was everything I had ever wanted?

How could I be finally drowning in such bliss when I was painfully denied for so long?

I am impatient. 

I want answers and whole truths.

I want to hold all that is mine, not loosely, as perhaps I should, but tightly, my nails digging in to its flesh.

If every other lover inevitably loses your interest when the physical becomes mundane. 

Then let us exist purely physically until your hands become bored holding me, until your mouth no longer drifts into mine, until your eyes no longer delight in every arc of my curves. 

I think deep down, in those recesses you don't want me to see, the part of you keeping quiet knows

understands 

You could never be sexually dissatisfied with me.

And that

THAT 

fucking makes no sense

pushes the familiar right outside your comfort zone 

Your own formula for failed romance

That's not what love is?

Is't?

No, that's passion, it's something else entirely 

mere fantasy 

not practical reality 

No, love must be rational and sensible

And be some tender caring difference that isn't what exists between us

Is that what you keep telling yourself?

I'm so different 

And crazy

And chaotic 

And it's just too much drama and madness and insanity

And it's just carnal, it's strongly sexual, so that must be all this is

And that must be bad

Right?

Is this the way the song plays in your head?

It's just too damn complicated 

It shouldn't be

Things that are right are easy

Because you're so fucking simple 

And generic

You're just like everyone else

And your relationships should be like everyone else's

Shouldn't be

Should

Except it isn't 

Actually

At all,

Complicated

It's euphoric and intoxicating and addicting

-Like every thing that you love-

And I don't believe for a second you don't actually know

of course you fucking know

How you feel what you feel what you will always fucking feel

four hundred twenty days and counting 

Lurking underneath your feigned confusion 

The truth

ours

Apart from her

or any/one

You claim words are dead 

But you're reading this

And my words exist in your head

I'm there

I fucking live

in there

Inside you

I thrive in the memories you delight in

Revel

Fancy

My Fancy Face

Don't you remember?

And my hair is changed 

And the perfect contours washed off my skin

And still you peer into my face like our souls are one 

And try to have me believe I'm too much

That I could want more than you have to give 

When all of this

From that first long luscious kiss at that bar

Was You.

Started

Continued

Tossed and picked back up

Reached for and talked whiling away the night

Held again

And tasted

Was all you.

Ignoring something powerful enough to halt a course you tried again to mistakenly take

Is too foolish

Even for you

hurricane reese

It is an utterly strange feeling to feel at once satisfied with your life in any one moment and still a corner of your soul longs to be beside another.

It feels like acceptance. 

To exist fully present in the people, the connections all around you, not ignoring the ache that's always within you, but no longer allowing it to influence the choices you make. 

Things I don't understand I have no desire to try and struggle to anymore.

I kind of experienced the reminder that some things, certain folks, those rare inexplicable bondings, cannot be undone.

And those are so much easier to walk away from. 

Because you know, they will always come back.

Their path will always find its way to stumble into you. 

So you've no need to stand still or walk in familiar circles to make it happen. 

It is. 

In spite of and because of you.

I let myself get lost in the hazy allure of last night and it felt incredible to be surrounded by strangers. 

I spent so much of my life trying to fit the cumbersome squares I adored into my world, many reluctant or resentful.

And I used to pride myself on my perseverance, my stubborn insistence that this one, This Soul, belonged in my storyline, needed me desperately, incessantly. 

And now I don't really know that girl.

I have to reach out, and communicate abundantly, but it isn't because of them. 

It's because of my balance. 

I don't harbor secrets. 

I don't wish I could unburden myself with the ugliness of who I really am. 

I'm a transparent chaos of canvas. 

And I don't want to chase the uncertain any longer. 

I danced on the precipice of what might be the greatest love story and when I finally asked him what his feelings for me were, he simply answered I don't know.

I don't know. 

I don't know. 

Jesus, what a dull familiar tune. 

I heard some others I love you in a particularly complicated way and laughed. 

What is it about my essence that so baffles and bewilders the very few I long to get lost in?

Dark humor my life is.

Twisted in its delicious uncertainty, violent instability. 

And complete and utter awe of all that just might be. 

Is. 

Already. 

I have no desire to run screaming into the night. 

I want to laugh. 

And dance. 

And sing at the top of my lungs. 

And be everything I insanely exist as

For any and all moments that choose to devour my wild heart. 

I love your life, my friend told me today.

As do I, dear one. 

So tenderly as do I. 

someone who looks like you

People think that I want a fairytale. 

A lover who will always say the right thing. 

Who poses for perfect pictures and cums on me in such a way I still feel refined. 

They see me and think they know the dark recesses of my core.

The way I must want everything they can't give me. 

Because I want everything. 

I want to push them beyond where they can even reach. 

But this week. 

This incredible week. 

I fell in love with imperfectness. 

My friend I've had hundreds of conversations with opened up about something she'd never told me before.

Something dark and sad and ugly. 

And vitally important to her heart. 

And I love her. 

And I've always loved her. 

But seeing her so raw, so vulnerable in her pain was like diving into her soul and taking a swim. 

I felt so close to her. 

And I love when people let me in. 

That same night I looked into my lovers eyes and he told me something he probably hadn't planned to. 

And I felt my soul climb into his and leave a red kiss on his cheek. 

I want a love that's broken. 

That's fucked up and confusing. 

That constantly surprises everyone involved. 

I want to be trusted to gingerly hold the pieces they offer, to continue to embrace the violent force that keeps pushing us into each other's arms. 

And I don't want to demand or ask for any more than they can offer. 

In any one moment in the middle of the night. 

And the friends who I don't see anymore, who I can't see, who won't message me back, I don't resent.

I send them light when I twirl around late in my underwear, laughing as I remember how much fun we used to have. 

I want my life filled with people who look into my eyes and freely hand me their dark truth. 

I want to hold them tight and kiss their forehead and whisper back in their ear, I'm not going anywhere. 

It's never over. 

This vibrant love.  

This call in my heart to listen. 

Listen to everything they trust me to hear. 

And even the things they can't.

Yet. 

Because days will pass and we will grow. 

And we'll see strange things and do some even stranger. 

But our bond will never fade. 

It's unbreakable. 

The contrast to each of us.

And even when words are dead, it exists still.

This light, this bright fire, making me forever smile, at just the momentary rememberance of your face, the way, for that one moment in time, your eyes trusted mine. 

And I wanted nothing more in life than to exist in that one moment. 

O Adventuring One

This may be wrong to say, but I think part of the reason we miss people is because of the moments we experience with them that we never experience with anybody else. 

And oftentimes, when we experience similar moments with others it takes the sting out of missing someone, not because they're less important, but because we've reminded ourselves we don't actually need them to feel the things we do.

They were merely lucky enough to experience it with us. 

I took myself to the beach today. 

I'd been aching to go for weeks.

There's always something restorative about going. 

I breathe deeper. 

My spirit softens. 

And for whatever reason, the waves remind me whatever's tormenting my heart will soon fade. 

And it won't be long before this all seems far less important. 

All of it. 

I remembered when I was walking along the streets how Kai and I had finished our backpacking adventure here. 

We hiked the trail from Seaside to Cannon beach and slept on a bunk that had all the comfort of a picnic table. 

In the middle of the night we relieved ourselves under the vivid stars. 

And I remember laughing and telling him who knew peeing side by side could be such a bonding experience. 

You're weird, he'd simply replied. 

Which was his response to everything I said. 

And that one moment pretty much summed up our entire relationship: me finding the beauty in the most inane moments.

And him thinking I'm a weird girl because of it. 

I'd never been backpacking with anyone since.

And the crazy truth is most people probably wouldn't ever realize that would be something I'd love to do again. 

And I know when I do go, it will ease that pain in my adventuring heart, the ache that longs for my climbing buddy, that wishes we could lose ourselves on some trail.

Kai helped me discover I had a longing for it. 

And no one else has satiated that desire.

Yet.

And I knew in my heart the same was true of my ex lover; it all felt more significant than it ought to, because he'd helped me discover a longing I also didn't know existed. 

And those turning points, those quintessential life moments of self discovery feel overwhelming, meaningful, in part, feel they happened simply because of them. 

When the reality is it didn't have to be either of them to awaken either dormant cry of my heart. 

But it was. 

It was them.

And it was magic. 

They were part of it. 

But moments don't have to exist for eternity to be any more meaningful. 

I didn't need either of them anymore. 

And it felt freeing to realize that. 

But it would be a mistake not to seek out a new partner to help satisfy the cries of my adventuring spirit and the desires buried beneath my skin.

If I can't spend Sunday's in your bed, in awe of all it is to be in your hands, then let us spend it together outside, in awe of all it is simply to be alive. 

Rigorous Honesty

When I was little, my parents said if I saw anyone with a camera I walked up to them and asked, Do you wanna take my picture?

Apparently I knew at a very young age I was captivating. 

So it's been a fabulous happenstance that within a week I had two photo shoots and ran into a third photographer--literally, I was running, and then saw him along the waterfront--who also wants to shoot.

My inner child is twirling around in her tutu in sheer delight.

But something happened at my shoot this week that made me realize how much I've changed. 

The photographer is great. 

We've worked together for years and he captured my first ever pin up shots.

But like any great love affair, there comes a moment when you've realized you've grown beyond them.

Your needs have changed, your desires, even the way you view yourself undressed. 

He's a perfectionist. 

He directs you which is why he can grab the perfect shot. 

Lift your left leg higher, your chin aimed lower, this way not that.

But what I realized was that after shooting with a new photographer the week before, someone I'd met all of ten seconds months ago, I discovered a dynamic more Reese.

Him and I immediately had a great vibe, and his shots are by far the best I've ever done.

And I didn't even realize there was any sort of difference until I was back to working with my old photographer again.

Move your arm lower...We don't want you bunched up....cover that area....

Wait.

Cover?

Move my arm a little bit lower to cover....

Are you telling me to hide parts of my body??

Like I said, he's a perfectionist.

And he kept repeating what a great face I have.

But when it came to my curves I got the distinct impression he thought they were only beautiful from certain angles. 

And I didn't want a "perfect shot."

I wanted a shot of me. 

The photographer I worked with last week told me I had a great body. 

He got shots from every angle and I mean every single one. 

And some of them when I saw them, if I'm completely unabashedly honest, I felt slightly insecure about, the ripples on my stomach exposed, the curves on my arms and my thighs. 

And then once I let my momentary embarrassment subside, I thought, I look beautiful. 

Those ripples, every soft curve was me.

Raw, vulnerably me. 

And that was stunning. 

The shoot I did last year with my photographer, which I had felt proud of, he'd photoshopped some of my ripples out. 

To make it more "perfect."

But then it was no longer me. 

So I felt really grateful.

Grateful I'd had the chance to work with an artist who inspired my absolute rawness in photos rather than an idea of what I was supposed to be. 

I felt empowered. 

And I also realized that as much as I loved being in my ex lovers hands, he wasn't like the new photographer who saw the beauty of me in my natural state. 

He was like the old photographer. 

Seeing parts of me as beautiful.

And parts of me as needing to be hidden. 

When I was having the most euphoric sex of my life those weeks with him, I wasn't writing. 

And it wasn't because I was distracted by my blissful state. 

It was because I was nervous to. 

I was afraid if I wrote the wrong thing he would read it and get offended, just as he had by the photo I'd posted weeks before, that he'd be uneasy by me presenting expressions, ideas, passions of who I actually am. 

So I kept it in. 

And I don't want a life where I'm holding back my chaos. 

I don't want to be photographed with my arm covering my belly fat.

I want a lover who delights in my intensity. 

Who sees me standing there, perfectly flawed body as is, and says Fuck, you're beautiful.

Yes.

He was good with my body. 

And I would never turn him down if he wanted it back in his hands. 

But I also would never be exclusively his. 

Because he could never satisfy my soul the way someone, somewhere could. 

And I refuse to settle for any one thing that doesn't contribute to the vibrant madness that I am.

kiss by the book

I got what I wanted. 

I always get what I want. 

He kissed me. 

He didn't just kiss me, he finally invited me over. 

The nice guy.

No. 

The fucking, creme de la creme of rare, wonderful gentlemen guys.

He finally stuck his fucking tongue down my fucking throat. 

After four lovely incredible dates. 

I felt nothing. 

Fucking numb. 

Sazerac on my tongue. 

Manhattan clouding my head. 

Anticipation mounting.

His hand had been on my thigh.

And he finally leaned in and placed his mouth on mine. 

Fuck.

Fucking fuck.

How could it be like this?

Nothing?

Fucking nothing?

No chemistry. 

Nothing. 

Not a flicker in my panties. 

Not for all the delicious rye in the world. 

What the fuck is life trying to prove to me?

You see that guy whose in transition?

Whose in his own wounded recovery, who looks into your vibrant eyes nervously?

You see that guy who makes you laugh and feel ok that you're ordering another drink while he's still sipping his first, the guy who always texts you after each date to tell you how swell you are.

The guy you were looking forward to seeing all week. 

You don't 

Enjoy

Kissing.

Fuck.

f u c c c K K k

And I'm not really sure what I can even do except laugh. 

I had two offers within 48 hours to fuck two attractive men who looked at me like I was Elizabeth Taylor.

And I turned them both down. 

I don't understand. 

I don't fucking understand chemistry at all.

And you know I blame him. 

For putting his hands on my body. 

For awakening a beast in me he wasn't planning to satisfy. 

I feel restless.

I think I understand why people must use drugs. 

I want to escape. 

To feel balanced again. 

And I want him to feel the same chaos in his skin that's preventing me from sleep. 

I want to take it all back. 

Every kiss

Every fuck

Every intoxicating glance.

Anything to make me stable once again. 

Because nothing else will get me high

No one else makes me quiver

And I didn't used to feel like this 

I don't even know what this is

But I'd give anything to go back

To undo

To not do the things that placed this craving in my skin 

To go back to the girl who enjoyed kissing strangers

Before this beast, this insatiable beast was awakened

Aching 

For that connection

That fucked up tormenting connection

That only he could bring. 

Facebook, You Dirty Whore

Life may not give you more than you can handle.

But it certainly makes you feel like you're losing your fucking mind sometimes. 

He's getting married. 

Who, you might ask?

Just the kid I spent enough years of my life with I could have earned a communications degree I'd never use.

Who then concluded, after such a long and arduous Friendship Degree, we could not, in fact, be friends since the lady of his heart forbade it. 

The lady he's apparently marrying/married to/enfianced/occasionally having coitus with.

I don't actually know my stalking skills were limited. 

Stalking?! You gasp.

Yes, stalking, that thing the men who claim they don't want to have sex with me anymore do when their girlfriends and/or wives are in the toilet. 

On the toilet?

I doubt the ladies of their heart fall in.

I don't know why I suddenly wanted to look at his social media. 

He blocked me a year ago and I never really thought about it, other than the occasional text to his mother wanting to feel somehow still connected to my BS Degree in Failed Relationships. 

But something about this Monday, maybe it was coloring the picture of Prince or the second Old Pal I was drinking, but I suddenly elbowed my friend who was already on Facebook and cried, Oooh, look him up!

I don't really know what I was expecting to see. 

Mostly just his face, I guess, since it had been so fucking long. 

And suddenly there it was, pasted across her iPhone 6. 

Smirking at the camera, her ring perched against his chest. 

Oh my god, I said. 

They're getting married?

It was at this moment that my friend, like all good friends, started to ask if I was ok. 

Are you sure you're ok?

And of course they know you're not ok but it's like a test to determine if you're going to lose it then, in a public bar, or later in the seclusion of your bedroom and the judgement of your onlooking cat. 

I'm fine. I'm fine. 

My repetition making it vastly apparent how UN fine I was. 

I'm not really sure why it bothered me so much. 

Because I'd been in love with him years ago?

That didn't feel quite it. 

It was more the fact that our lives were so separate, so completely unintertwined with one another that I didn't even know something so significant was happening to him. 

And here I was in Timing's warped infinite loop, reeling from rejection by the same ex lover who'd ended things with me this same time last year. 

I felt a little like a kid standing in the mud, my party dress ruined, wondering why I couldn't be laughing down the slide with the rest of the normal kids. 

I'm not a normal kid. 

I'm a weird girl. 

And then, as suddenly as I felt my heart had been bitch slapped, I no longer cared about my ex lover choosing someone else. 

I no longer needed to talk things out or wear something sexy for him to drool over and wish I'd turn around so he could smack my perfect ass again. 

I just wanted him in my life. 

If my options were never talking to him again or high fiving the girl who won exclusive rights to my favorite appendage then could I please just salute her victory?

Could we just forget what completely we weren't to each other and delight in what we were?

I'm so sick of losing people I care about. 

I'd rather wave to each other every full moon than resent what they can't give me. 

I gladly accept what can be offered. 

Life's too fucking short to be blocked. 

Especially by someone whose hug restores your soul. 

If what we shared has changed or is gone at least let me have the occasional emoji. 

Surely we could at least have that.

Surely you at least want me to have that. 

a new dom

It's kind of amazing what being away from someone does to you.

Absence doesn't always make the heart grow fonder.

Sometimes absence reminds you how undeniably you 

don't 

need someone. 

Don't get me wrong.

It's not that I don't still want to see him.

It's not that I didn't still wish he saw me in my dress last night because I felt so hot I could have been Dita Von Teese's lover. 

But my world is not as small as it was a year ago. 

And I'm also not as romantic.

I don't believe in a soul mate. 

I believe in lots of soul mates. 

And I don't believe in waiting for someone to realize they actually dislike me being gone. 

This week apart has only done one thing for me:

Reaffirmed that as much as I didn't need him before we were lovers, I still don't need him. 

He thinks I want something more than he's capable of offering. 

When all I want from anyone is the sincerity of the connection that exists between us. 

For whatever that is, that passion or friendship or need, in that moment, to be embraced and explored and delighted in. 

I hate people who say they shouldn't do something.

I want a sensualist not a saint. 

I want someone who knows what to do with my body not someone who looks away because they fear what they feel when they look into my eyes. 

It's boring. 

Our story is tired.

I went to a club last night unlike any one I've ever been to. 

A place where the energy in the room, where the pairs of eyes looking at you are delighting in everything, in every detail of you. 

And there was no shame anywhere. 

Their eyes met yours and they smiled. 

Seeing you seeing them enjoying you.

And when we finally left and ventured on to another bar some hottie in thick black glasses sat beside us. 

And he got my number.

And he already texted asking to see me again. 

And I can't fucking remember the last time I actually got picked up at a bar. 

And I really don't even give a fuck about him, to be honest. 

But last night was the universe's way of reminding me this energy, this connection you're fucking fleeing from is everywhere.

Everyone sees what I am.

You're not special.

You're not the only man to think I look like a goddess sitting on top of you.

And maybe what we have is special. 

But maybe it's really not. 

Maybe the things I thought you were saying to me are the things you say to every lover while touching her thighs. 

Maybe that night you played what you claimed you hadn't for any lover in seven years my ears could have been anyone's. 

Maybe you just needed someone to listen.

And it had nothing the fuck to do with me. 

But I don't want to guess anymore. 

Because it doesn't fucking matter. 

You're always going to be the kid who runs away from me. 

And I really want someone whose going to stop

And stare 

And delight in what they see 

And have absolutely no desire to look away 

Until they've given me every 

last 

desire I crave 

and don't even know I want.

Last night I thought, A week ago I was dumped. 

And now here I stand feeling absolutely alive 

And beautiful 

And open to anyone

And every pleasure 

You could have given me 

But now never will.