A fellow from many years ago (who I never wrote about)…
Him: “The only thing worse than being written about publicly, is not being written about at all.”
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Fellows
A fellow from many years ago (who I never wrote about)…
Him: “The only thing worse than being written about publicly, is not being written about at all.”
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it was the most natural dance with another
through the other
who is me
a dance so fluid
i didn’t notice the moves
i only felt the dance
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no one’s ever had me
but he’s had more of me
than most
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we are two planets colliding
getting smashed to smithereens
and when the damage is done
there is s p a c e
and in that space
we recalibrate
shocked and startled
once again
neither knowing what’s to come
from the rubble left in our wake
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if it didn’t destroy me
if parts of me weren’t forced to die
repeatedly
and quite potently
through the is-ness of he and i
there’d be no pull for me to stay
- not with him -
but with all that arises
through the mutual destruction that our interactions bring
this alone is what interests me
because i’m interested in what disturbs me
and i’m interested in the art of becoming less disturbed
by what throws me off my game
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I do the opposite of what they say to do
With a man
As a woman
Whatever the fuck that means
I am sharp
Not soft (and I am - very)
I challenge everything
Until there’s nothing
I don’t let anything go
Until it returns back to zero
(an inside job - read more)
And as he’s said…
I’m relentless
Unyielding
Exacting
Demanding
Militant
Trenchant
Mercurial
And yet…
He’s still here
Right here
Closer than most will ever be (his words)
To me
To themselves
To heaven
To another
Precisely because I do the opposite of what they say to do
With a man
As a woman
Whatever the fuck that means
Why would I be less me for anybody
The more me, the better
For everybody
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He and I are so damn close.
Again tonight,
brought to tears.
(over dinner at my favourite spot)
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I don’t care about bridging our divide.
I care about bridging my own.
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The chasm between he and I is immense.
Always has been.
Except, of course, when it’s not.
The only thing that has and could ever bridge that incredible divide is pure presence.
No self.
Those rare and delicious moments that he’s described as unimaginable, when both of us are simultaneously present AND absent.
This or nothing.
AND
This because there’s nothing.
Which is why it’s futile to ‘work on’ the so-called relationship.
The only work is HERE; not there.
#remainempty
Within me; not with him.
I don’t care about bridging our divide.
I care about bridging my own.
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Amanda: “Are you DONE done with him?”
I don’t need to be done with him.
Or with anybody or anything else.
I just need to be exactly where I am.
Those people and things will be here as well - or they won’t be.
Who cares.
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Him: “When we’re together like this, it feels like anything is possible.”
Me: “Because it is.”
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I don’t work to keep us together.
I work to break things apart.
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“When we are together, we are closer than most couples and that's as real as it gets for me.”
Him, last night.
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I chose him precisely because of the density.
The grit.
For the perceived dysfunction that would highlight my own so I could erect what had long been limp.
I used him to purify myself.
To be stripped even further.
To stay until nothing was left.
From the outside, it looked insane.
And to my human, it felt like hell.
But obliteration was what I was after.
Why else would I have danced right there.
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All I want is to destroy you.
Strip you bare and leave you for dead.
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the only time we’re together
is when he’s not actually there
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I’ll stay when you do.
I’ll leave when you do, too.
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It’s either me or your shit.
Never both.
It’s always up to you.
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He asked me where we stand.
I stand where I’ve always stood.
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