I’m a fool.
Or perhaps, foolhardy.
Yesterday and today I tried to distance myself from the two men which have burrowed into my soul. I lashed out in anger and in disbelief. And now I sit in my Parisian hotel room and wonder if I’ll ever enjoy their precious company again.
One, Artem, is still moored in South Africa. The other sits a short distance away. But in arrogance they’re no nearer than the moon. Yet both hold my heart in their hands, and, I fear, have placed it on a tabletop, picked up a ball-peen hammer, and are about to crush it like a walnut.
Why do we proffer our hearts to those who even own ball-peen hammers? Why do I ache when all I’ve ever wanted is closeness? Is love such a tasteless commodity that people drink it’s nectar only to spit it out? Then why even take that first bite?
Artem most likely has been a fantasy. I doubt that I’ll ever hold him in my arms. And the other is certainly physical, very physical, and of whom I’ve held in my arms and tasted and felt every inch of his intoxicating flesh. Why then have they chosen to distance themselves from me? Have I become so needy? Needy isn’t sexy. Not even to me. Confidence is sexier. Confidence brings with it the ability to be alone, untethered, a freed balloon floating high above the city. Young men love balloons. They chase them. But no one loves pigeons. No one loves the pecking of pigeons for indistinguishable morsels of discarded bread.
I’ve never been good at waiting. I’m impatient. I have a certain degree of wanting. Yet, I’d always thought that longing was a handsome trait. But perhaps longing is like a poorly camouflaged trap. Every creature on earth knows how to avoid a trap. Even I.
So to the two most important men I know, know this: I want you in my life. But I don’t need you. I need to breathe. I need to live. But love? I want love. I want men. And if this all sounds too needy know one thing: I was born into this life to live. I have lived before you and I will live after you. You’re but a wayside I’ve chosen to steer into. And you can join me on my journey if you so desire. But you’re free my darlings. Free to climb out of my car whenever we no longer serve us.