“i am your plaything.”
the weather can’t decide what to be. i leave the ceiling fan on at night and the hum moves the still cold air around the room. then in a few hours the sun comes and touches my eyelids. i feel in a strange heavy in between place, just waiting for grad school to be over and hoping my motivation will eventually come back. it’s not sad at all (i am generally happy), but sometimes it is. i think that i should probably be meeting and talking to new people, but i just can’t stop feeling tired long enough to really care.
i suppose that my apathetic state might have something to do with the way i feel treated by you, too. it’s easy to pull myself down to the phrase “i won’t find someone” and i’m supposed to avoid that kind of thinking but i can’t help it. our society cultivates the idea of love being the one thing a young woman should pursue and then shames her for pursuing it. and, it’s not my fault that you can’t grow up and say what you mean the first time. you’re always revising. saying things like “you’ll be seeing more of me and i want to be a part of your life” but you know, since day one your honesty had a falseness i chose to ignore. i hardly see proof of the words you string together. thesis: you only want sex. then is it my fault for not growing up and admitting it? admitting that i’d like to have one person fuck me, cook pasta with me, share a forest on the coastline with me. because i’m 25 years old and time doesn’t ever slow down. people in my family say “you have all the time in the world” but i’ve learned that’s one of the the worst things you could ever think.
what’s funny is i really like you, but not all that much because i know you’re ultimately going to be wrong for me, and leave for another country someday. because your “several girls” mean we hardly talk. you probably treat them like shit, too. so can i enjoy this while it lasts?
i just have to have the preference (not strength) for you to be my occasional plaything and nothing else, as you said when we were both fully clothed and dark on my bed, placed one on top of the other.
you tell me you like to be used. somehow, it only makes me feel sorry for you.