A Request to my Lovers, Exes and Playmates

As I once again lay in bed under a stomach filled with pasta, white wine, birthday cake and relentless regret, I would like to ask you all one question. I’m a big girl and I can take it: What was the turning point? That’s it… what was the turning point?

For that much I’m willing to take the blame… I know how much fun, laughter and intrigue I place mid-game but then settle and give in to love, comfort and free praise. We learn from failing and critique. And so, with my ego cast aside I sincerely wish you will participate in helping decode the patterns that have brought me here, to this very familiar, vulnerable and unproud place.

Beyond your dashing smiles and thoughtful eyes; your chiseled abs, outward charms or plentiful accounts… and despite your varying ages, spaces and paces of life…. You have all for the most part been intelligent, ambitious, respectable and respectful men. Men whose logic I once praised and lead I trusted to follow. So now, with a portion of my wakeful brain and an ever smaller piece of my self respect I ask you: was I a far challenge too easy to attain, an illusion too real to sustain or a painting too messy to maintain?

From Spain, Portugal and France to Brazil. From Chile, Colombia to Nicaragua to here. From the heat of the African desert to the chilling Irish Hills… For the daylight hours lost in co-inspiration and the sleepless ones given away to pleasure. For the ideas, the humor, and the selfless cheers… For my dismissal of your own choices to dismiss and the friendly hand that I’ve so sincerely extended to each. For the dreams I sewed from you and the tears I tore for you… My dearest lovers, to you all: one last plea.

Can you trace some memories and map some emotions? Could you be so kind as to send just a handful of reactions? I met the child, the artist and the sage. I tried at planned and practical, at spontaneous and adventurous. I went for nurturing, needy to not a care in the world… from exotic to familiar… from banker to writer… from rock star to chef … from salesman to athlete… to the neighbor upstairs…. from day jobs to no-jobs to becoming good at blow jobs… I’m not done but I’m tired… not old but also not too wired… Is it just so much to ask? Am I too nice, too eager, too drunk or always a bit too fat?

Of the few letters I’ve written, this is far from my proudest … but in your heart and reluctance to dive in the past.. please do consider my candor. Not a pitty party, just a humble request from a girl you may have once considered a likely mate…