Why do you fall in love with every new man you find interesting? And why do you only find interesting the men who do not, or could not, give you anything in return?
Ones who made excuses when you asked them to spend time with you, between the ‘yeah, sure lets hang soon’s and ‘oh sorry, i’m busy’s, you never knew if any of these responses were real or just conversation fillers that bought you extra time, to delay the inevitable conclusion to our relationships.
You always started with a spark with these men, an initial attraction, your eyes locked for a split second that felt like forever and a fire stirred inside your stomach as you gazed in embrace. The spark lasted for a few weeks, maybe a month at most, while you broke down the barriers through casual exchange in texts because you did not believe in sexual intimacy without a connection. The text talking was what you were most comfortable with, it allowed for distance, without letting down any of your barriers. You could control what you said, gave you space to plan your sentences. But eventually the cracks start to appear, after a few real-life meetings you start to get attached, form a fictional relationship with this person, formulating made up scenarios and ideals of what could be possible. You let on too much, you go from being interesting and ‘fun’ to talk to, to being slightly needy and too comfortable.
This is the moment these men raise their ears to the sounds of my text beeping, alert in the forest like a wary deer, they stand still in the shadows hoping they won’t be seen by my searching eyes. They moment I get too close they make a run for it, escape. Sometimes gradually, slowly cutting down their responses to one word answers, until eventually you get me to admit that it’s not going to happen anymore.
And this is when I want them the most, my aching heart has been set alight with smouldering embers, quietly turning the remains of my heart to a blackened char. The less you want me, the more I want you. The less attention you pay me, the more I need to be seen. To be heard, and my grip grows slightly tighter with every passing day because I do not want to lose the possibility of all the things I had imagined for us, what we could have done, could have said, could have seen and felt if he disappeared.
You had a connection, yes, but it was fleeting, never meant to last. Why? It may not have been the right time, or place in the cosmos. These men always had other distractions, they were not looking directly at you, their attention was elsewhere with someone else. You were just temporary, something interesting to talk to for a moment and pretty to look at that made them feel good about themselves, while they wiled their time away on their others. It was unfair. And yet it happened every single time, over and over again like an old clock that would not stop ticking in place, stuck in its minute little loop.
They were all in love with someone else. And here I was once again stuck inside the broken clock where time stood still.