Addicted to Your Unattached Sex

I always found unrequited love a funny thing to watch on movie screens. Either you tell this person you want them, or you don’t. I didn’t understand being tied to someone else and pining for another while the world conspires against your passion. Maybe this is karma choosing to cause some retribution for my inability to connect with others. I finally do, and it just doesn’t fucking matter. I try to numb all my senses, want, desire, my body demanding touch when it knows I can’t have it.

I’m still addicted to your unattainable sex. I remember your cologne like it was yesterday that I tasted it. It was a brief occurrence by accident, or maybe not accident, that it happened. The way your eyes ravaged me like I was the most delicious thing you’d ever seen. Your touch seared my dormant, sex starved skin and I couldn’t breathe. Because the desire I felt for you was so overwhelming.

You superseded my logic in every way possible. I hated that. And I loved this strange, addictive quality you had on me.

I can still feel your arms wrapped around me possessively, yet completely distant at the same time. It was the best hug of my life, which sounds both pathetic and unusual. My family doesn’t hug each other, or touch either for that matter. Unless we’re trying to hurt each other.

You’re a complexity I can never figure out. I get closer to your inner being and the distance grows further. An emotional ocean that I can never cross and I shouldn’t want to.

But I want to. And that’s the thing I hate the most about this. You still set my heart fluttering like a butterfly’s wings against glass. You’re the glass, the sunlight I’m drawn to that will singe my wings. My breath catches in my throat as the phone keeps ringing. Wishing desperately you’d pick up, and at the same time that you’ll leave me alone in this silence.

I need the silence to recover. I should have known better than to allow you to finally see me alone. We need monitors, others around us, to try to quell our need to be close to each other.

You’re still there waiting for me in my dreams. Or is it my nightmares since we are something that shouldn’t ever be?

I desire to forget you and your touch. It’s like a tattoo I can never erase. The pain brings me back to this world, how you’re scarred into my diamond edged surface. That first time you held me I swear the world stopped. Time was suspended as I gave myself over for you to embrace me for the first time. I knew I was in trouble, but I didn’t have a need to get out of it until you decided to disappear.

I want to despise you. It’d make things so much easier. But, I can’t garner the negative emotion against you. You’re me; in a different gender, in another body. I understand why you vanished like fog rising into the morning sun.

Two months without a word. You see me on a whim, by serendipitous bullshit. In that moment you behave like we had never been separated, as if you hadn’t ignored me. And my normally calm, robotic self exploded with anger. You kidded with me when plans changed and I was thrown off if I was angry. I wasn’t, only thrown off kilter but I’d adapt. Because whatever we got into was worth me giving up my sensibilities.

You acted like you hadn’t come in my life, destroyed what I thought I knew, and disappear like you never existed.

You’re vapor I can never hold. I have a desperate passion to keep trying though. I guess this is the reminder that I’m more human than I’d like to admit.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.