The Dark Side

I have never really wanted children. I don’t like most children; or rather I don’t like how most adults parent their children. I have never really wanted to get married. What marriage stands for today a far cry from the ideals people seem to desire when they embark up on it.

What I do want is someone who is my equal. I want a man who will push me to be the best I can and who will let me push them back. I want a partner in crime. I don’t have the same ideals that other people do. I am not blind to the fact that passions fade, that this man may not want to bed only me for the rest of his life. I am also quite aware that I may not want to sleep with just him.

I was in love once, but not really. It would be more accurate to say that I wanted to be in love; I wanted a boyfriend. At the time I genuinely believed I was in love and thought I would spend the rest of my life with him, marry him and have a child with him. Hindsight is a delightful thing.

Right now I feel frustrated. I am angry. As unfortunate as this is going to sound it is true; women are master manipulators. If I wanted to I could make any man fall in love with me, just a game I used to play when I became bored.

It was the same thing with the above noted love. I was in love with him because I wanted to be in love and he was in love with me because I wanted him to be.

Only one man has ever really been in love with me, my true self. I was not in love with him. It was something else, something bigger than that.

We would lay in my bed, naked. I adored the way his skin felt next to mine; our arms gently resting next to one another. The way he looked at me. He knew everything about me, about Chloe too. He didn’t care, not for one second. He would kiss me so softly and slowly and tell me he loved me. I would run my fingers through his long hair and rest my head on his naked chest. I would trace the outline of his tattoos with the tip of my finger.   

We would talk and pleasure each other for hours. My bed, his bed, the park; it did not matter where we were. It was like no feeling I have ever had with someone. I felt like we had the oldest souls and from the moment we met we understood everything about the other.

Why am I going on about this? Because it’s gone, he’s gone. Its over before it even really started. It is for the best. I do not think he was in love with me, even though he told me countless times he was. In truth it was something beyond love and neither of us could fully describe it; the irony of which is painful as we are both writers.

I am not worried about finding someone who will love me, that is an easy feat. But rather, I am terrified that no man can ever understand me the way he did. The way he did with out me having to say a single word. 

This feeling is crippling. I am numbing the pain with mindless 'fucks' and nothing seems to work. I don't want him back, I just want that feeling. That beautiful feeling of being understood. That nonjudgmental, unsympathetic understanding we had of each other. 

As I write this hot tears are streaming down my cold cheeks. I just want to be understood.