Thursday, 19 February 2015

Cautiously optimistic.


I gave this whole “living life sober” thing a shot and quickly discovered that being sober is for the birds. I’m at my best when the combination of big pharma pills and red wine has me licking the backs of my teeth from a mouth that is so dry.
You are a siren more tempting than any Odysseus had ever encountered; the type of lady that drives men to madness and women to the edges of temptation. But I am not a fable, and trust me when I tell you that I’m going to be raking the coals of Hell as punishment for what I plan to do to you.
I am unapologetically opportunistic. I am a buzz saw you should avoid. Bite your lip and try to hold back your naughty thoughts, because dilated pupils and flushed cheeks have already told me all I need to know.
Enough about you already, let’s talk about me. Let’s talk about how tonight I’m going to give you all the attention one can give. That tonight, the only thing I want to do is feel you shake from pleasure. That tonight….
Fuck.
I can’t write this anymore, at least I can’t write like this right now. This is no longer how I feel, this is not who I am, and these are not the words I actually want to write.
So here I go, sharing my words meant for one, instead, with the masses.
Dear ________,
You have silenced my pen. 
You have me over-thinking every single word.
You have me listening to James Brown and agreeing that this is a man’s world, but it would be nothing without a woman.
You have me wanting to steal Hank Moody quotes, wishing that I had written “she said one thing, I said another and the next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation,” but sadly, I didn’t.
You have me without even asking me to cut out all others.
You have me watching the fireplace channel and enjoying a sober conversation.
You somehow have me adding Sex and the City to my Google play queue.
You have me nervous to make a move. I feel like I’m in the eighth grade.
You have me hoping that you’ll spend the night, and trust me, that’s a big fucking deal.
You have me writing quick little sentences, trying to figure out how to say this.
I’m not going to rush you. In fact, I’m going to give you all the time you need because I don’t want to be a rebound. I want you to figure out what you want out of life, and if that includes me. I want you to know that as of late, all I’ve been thinking about is you, and that for once, I’m going to do my best to not fuck this all up.