>>7533710 ______ Hi. I know it's been a while since we've really talked, and even longer since you really probably even cared about me, but I really miss you. You used to like me, I know that now. I used to like you, too. However, you stopped liking me and developed feelings for some other guy, whereas I stopped liking you and started loving you.
Yes, after all this time, I love you, and I'm comfortable with that now. You are my reason for going on. Without the extremely slim chance of getting the divine pleasure of interacting with you, much less having a legitimate conversation with you, I probably would have killed myself.
Wait, that's a shitty thing to put in a love letter, but I'm not going to take it out because it's true.
______, it's not just because you're perfect that you are everything to me. It's not your beauty, or passion, or sense of humor or genius or talent, or even the way you represent all I care about. It's that are you, and you know what I mean by that, even if I don't have the words to describe what I mean.
So there it is. I love you. I don't expect you to leave that idiot for me. This letter, if it didn't end up in the garbage like the rest of my letters to you, is just a declaration of why you're the best thing to ever happen to me, even though "we" never existed.
Hey there, I know I'm awkward and spergy in real life but since you'll never read this I can say whatever I want.
I'm crazy about you, more than you have any idea. Sometimes I can't believe how much I adore you. You have the most perfect personality, easy for me to talk to, which is a big deal for me. I love the way your face scrunches up when you laugh, particularly when I make you laugh. You have the deepest, most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. I don't usually notice those sorts of things, but I notice them about you. I love how you're feminine, but not girly, if you know what I mean. You're better with power tools than me, you never wear dresses, but you're still most certainly very "female".
You inspire me to be a better person. I didn't get a job because I needed the money. I got a job because you deserve a man who works. I'm working so hard to better myself. I want to marry you and be the best husband possible. There's plenty wrong with me, but I can't think of a single thing wrong with you. A lot of girls are concerned with trivial, pointless activities and are completely uninterested in anything important. Not you. You love your family, your friends, and literature.
You wouldn't believe this, but for many months I've been posting in an online image board chronicling my quest to read the classic books. I've never read much, but I want to be able to talk about this stuff with you. You're so great, I want to like the same stuff you do. Slaughterhouse-Five is my favorite so far, I just finished Lord of the Flies before Christmas. I think I'll start The Great Gatsby next. (That's essential "Teen Girl Tier" right?)
I hope to maybe tell you some of these things soon. Of course, it will be spergy and I will almost certainly try to diffuse the tension with jokes, but I'm hoping that you might feel sort of the same way.
Oh darling, I love your quirkiness and your sense of love for someone so broken and seemingly normal. I love you even when I think about other woman and act on the impulse of my sexual urges. Aristotle has lectured on the just and temperate man as one who practices Just and Temperance, but I cannot be that and in reality I don't want to be that. I adore you as my muse but my feelings do not cease my desires. I think I'm evil and I think I am a hedonist that lives the life for ignorant, and indulge-driven women. With all my love, I still live the life of the man in the Tropic of Cancer. Living for Stimulation, thrill, and ego is the worse drug of all and its pleasures makes one a slave.
Thanks for loving me without knowing the truth of pursuit of flesh and dominance. Only death seems to be the answer for people like me.
Hello, me Obviously i don't have to say anything to you because you know already what I would say if i were to want to say anything in particular, which I don't, because it would be redundant for the reason that I just mentioned. Cheers
I want to taste you Bethel. Taste your lips afire, eyes widened in disbelief at what has happened. Both our beings entwined, gaping at this improbable but not all impossible dramatic exemplar of love in truth. Slight kisses down your face, your soft cheeks lush, pure to melt into thine bed, all wetted from our emulsive sweat, drenched in musk, odor a dew of passion, adieu to the restraints of your Catholic sensibilities...
Oh sweet Beatriz, my Tala, Goddess of stars that glisten in your eyes wet, filling in love, drenched amor of desire. As my tongue wanders to your earlobe and prods with invasive dexterity, the candles alight perform shadow puppetry against the lively curtains in varying rhythms. To taste thy breast and feast on thy skin...holiness expounds our complex history, the theories of ardor. Your sainthood shining, the sweetest spot granted to thee, a pluck and a drink of wine so fresh and fragrant from the altar, to read that mound with fortitude, thou catechism of the living works. Your lips apart my love, to caress and smell and lap up as the kitten grows in exactitude. Oh to enter! The holy of holies, eyes not apart from the other, two beings in coil, disbelieving. What has happened? The apex of all existence, of all being, that was the zenith of the all-something, to be inside her, to gaze on thee; absolution.
Desire rises and solidifies when I touch your body. Unbreaking glass of your spectral being can not be shattered by any person but mine own lithe rood of holiness, deified by your coronating embrace so wondrous. The taste and the kiss. A fire. The heat grows tenfold, illuminating our eyes in embrace, entering and exiting. Pleasure rises, reverberates and sections my soul. Cut off from all else, from all other stimuli. Just us two in love wholly, without abstraction or distraction.
I would be delighted to feel my flesh tingling under your hand . Do you know what I mean, Nora dear? I wish you would smack me or flog me even. Not in play, dear, in earnest and on my naked flesh. I wish you were strong, strong, dear, and had a big full proud bosom and big fat thighs. I would love to be whipped by you, Nora love! I would love to have done something to displease you, something trivial even, perhaps one of my rather dirty habits that make you laugh: and then to hear you call me into your room and then to find you sitting in an armchair with your fat thighs far apart and your face deep red with anger and a cane in your hand. To see you point to what I had done and then with a movement of rage pull me towards you and throw me face downwards across your lap. Then to feel your hands tearing down my trousers and inside clothes and turning up my shirt, to be struggling in your strong arms and in your lap, to feel you bending down (like an angry nurse whipping a child's bottom) until your big full boobies almost touched me and to feel you flog, flog, flog me viciously on my naked quivering flesh!!
My muse is my darling. He is prone to all things mathematics. My muse is smart, my muse is great. He shows no affection and I feel so much pain. My muse is parallel to another state. He was stolen 275 days ago. My muse smiles for everyone and I smile for forever just as I see my muse approaching. His bench is close by so I sit behind him. What's that smell? It's the scent of the forgotten so Its only myself. Oh, how I wish my muse would wink at me. Oh, how I wish and wish my muse would kiss me, hug my back, comb my hair and tell me long stories.
"My muse, don't be afraid, not ever, to come to me as I will always be standing near longing to hear you shout."
when i get that job and pay off my debt and save enough money, we can find a basement apartment downtown and won't ever have to do anything. we can stay inside all day and watch movies or make fun of people from our windows. it's okay to be sad, and you can't find words for why you feel like you do. and really what are we to each other but just a safe place. the whole world can go fuck itself. i love you and i don't care if it sounds weak.
>Can someone rate this? I wrote it a while ago for my ex (dumped her, ended up regretting it). I'm not sure if it's quite good, or really, really bad.
I've been reading a lot recently. There's a catharsis in words on the page, in that lyrical ease that only comes from an honest accounting of thought. When you come across a written idea that you believed particular to yourself, to your own experiences – the interplay between your hope and disappointment, fantasy and The Real – it's a beautiful, jarring thing. We like to think that we're unique, special somehow. And I suppose we are, in the way that a grain of sand has some minor, insignificant deviation from all others, from its Ideal. But its still that Ideal which each grain aspires to. We're more similar than we are different, me and you.
I've been reading a lot recently, but this line marks the most I've been able to write since I last saw you. I told myself that it was nothing at first, some ephemeral thing; that I just didn't want to. Next came, as it tends to, the hot compulsion of rage: I hated you. For being so fucking insentient, so unaware of yourself, your actions, me. The axiom is that this act of writing, of bargaining, should have come next, but I must have skipped a step before backtracking. I cried for the first time, today.
It's not loneliness. I have good friends, and solitude's never been a problem for me. An empty bed is just itself, there's no painful essence to it, in what it is. The problem is what it's not. A night watching the stars slowly bleed into the reds and golds of morning is neutral, indifferent in its inevitability, and the women who've shown interest are fine. But the night is a night without you. The women will never be you. Everything is defined by your absence.
Contrivance is tempting. Desperate, confessional words should be elegant, we think. Like make up, flattering clothes, good lighting. Hell is other people precisely because of the horror of exposure, of being seen as we are; and we do all we can to mediate that. But in good writing truth is always immanent, immediate, trembling with urgency. The truth is not always graceful. It spits and cries, stumbling over itself in its inexorable march. I want you to see me like that, and to choose to keep looking.
So I'll be straightforward. The thought of never kissing you again, of never holding you, of not waking and just drinking in the fact of you kills me. I don't know how you feel, whether baring myself like this is a mistake, and it doesn't matter. I love you.
I feel guilty for loving you. I love you for the most selfish reason that one can love another. I love you because you inspire a deep rooted sense of contentment in me, and without you I wouldn't know how to be happy. I want to die before you so I don't have to endure the pain of losing you. I put you before myself only because the feeling you instill in me. I just think I love loving you, and for that I am incredibly sorry. You give me a sense of selfish altruism that is incomprehensible to anyone who does not feel it.
When I gaze upon into your eyes, I see myself staring back. When I brush your hair off the temple of your temples, I I pause for a minute to pay homage to the silken mantle which I touch. When I stroke your cheek, I am stroking smooth alabaster. And when I kiss your lips, I feel my breath sucked out of me. Gasping for air, I grab at your hands, and, though they are not perfectly manicured, they have the strength to save me before I drown. I can even hear your voice now, calling at me through the distance, but I can not yet tell if it carries comfort, or if it carries a warning. Listen.
Before I met you I had only dreamed about the infinite nature of love. In the past I have even considered such a possibility of joining into that permanent engagement with another, but until I met you it was just a consideration. When we first began to know each other I had instant certainty that you were someone with whom I could share the rest of my life with.
To know that I would have given myself fully to another is a feeling that will linger in me forever. It will remain side by side with that stinging pain of knowing that I will never hear from you again.
Dear B, what a ridiculous formality to start with. I know that I could shout anything at you and you would greet it with affection. My absence has been a long month, I've suffered it deeply and I know you have too. I wasn't expecting you, you know this, when you moved into that establishment with a grace I've never before encountered. I wasn't expecting your chastity after we departed, homebound; but you found something in me that I myself haven't found, so you anxiously await my presence.
Before meeting you I could not have hoped for such a pure passion, clean of vice and earthly presence. But now I melt at the thought of you, still ashamed of the ecstasy you force upon me. I've had unconditional affection before, from a dog, or a simple girl, undeserving of my love, but never from an equal. Never have I feared the loss of a lover so, or felt truly beloved. You put me through a gauntlet of emotions formerly inconceivable, my cynicism would have never allowed it. But we are two of the same kind, our thoughts, actions, aspirations are one and the same and it's cliche of me to label such a thing as a soulmate but I have no other words.
Hopefully you won't read this shit and tomorrow our reunion will remain untainted of my sentimental bullshit. But if you do I know you would love it and I love you for that. Until then, anon.
>>7537453 Holy shit this goes on. If I her, reading this, I would think, "Get to the goddamned point already. The time for me listening to your feelings is over. I'm over you, now you need to get over yourself."
Basically, condense. You write like an angsty teen, probably because you are one. It's not necessary to tell her every single emotion and thought. It's not necessary to spill your guts on the page, cause that shit stinks and no one wants to see it. And stop roping her in with the coercive "we." As if you can speak for her.
>>7538880 that's fine by me. But if many of the posts in this thread are what you call "hyperbolic" then I don't go for it. There's a fine line between poetry and melodrama, but most of these anons are firmly in what I would consider melodrama--self-indulgent purple prose, almost rambling.
Time for me to get mi uno(we all get ours with Brooklyn). I wanted to split a Denny's pecan pie with her but she didn't want pie and it soured my mood. I played it off as a laught and soon she was badmouthing her boyfriend and my friend. She smoked and drank herself retarded and downies give me the hots.
You'll be dead soon, and I guess so will I. I kinda wish it wasn't this way. You, depressed and suicidal don't even think of me even close to what you thought you would have wanted to. You're despairing over you're own lost love. We're alike in that way, we're both sad, lonely, desperate people alone and obsessed. You feel the emptiness I feel. You can't come to grips with it either. At least I know you'll be strong enough to just end it. I'm still bound to you, I can't stop thinking about you and it drives me insane. I think I'm almost grateful that you might end it soon. That might give me the relief of being able to end my own life. No more depression, no more anxiety, no more obsession. The loneliness and emptiness will leave with me and I won't have to face it anymore. I lived for you and you lived for someone else and they left you. So you'll stop living and I can go with you. Things might have been different, but they weren't. I'm sorry.
Felicit, find me; grey eye bind me, tell me not or tell me no. Sit still silent, penchant violent, tear my hair at memory. Of when we walked and when I talked and when the cold seeped to the bone of when I knew we'd never be.
Aida. We'll never be. I'm with someone now. I love her, deeply. You've changed my life. Really. And I'm not sure I know what that means or if it means anything, but you've come to shape an understanding in my mind. Something beautiful. Thank you.
Love of my life if I could only see you flitting above my head in troubles times, outside my sight though I was only ever searching for you. Why when once I tasted the spring could I not leave the search for it alone when that same spring was an indwelling. All those hours wasted in lonely wandering through junk temples, breathing toxic dust, dreaming toxic thoughts. There you were, all the time, in the waves, those senseless beating waves. All of my lust. All of my anger. Every cry, every sharp pain in the night, all crashing in on itself at the closing and the opening of the gates.
I've come to the realization that we would be great friends if we stopped all this between us. We once were; do you remember that? I suppose that was how we ended up here. But it's been too many years with too little action. Now the only thing to do is to put young love away. You'll enjoy your future and I can finally enjoy mine. We'll come back to one another some day, but for now I love you and goodbye.
Steam comes up from the gutters; rain comes down from the pipe. There's a guy named Paul who's wearing a fur coat and six inch heels, and a three-day beard. The doughnuts all have names like the strippers from across the way.
You'd never like it here. I can hear you now: spouting your manifest pinko rhetoric talking about Marks, while shooing away plaidhat - he's the nicest guy, really, panhandler, hasn't showered since winter started, but that's no reason to call 911 or anything - never noticing the hypocrisy, never unbuttoning that top button on your Forever 21 shirt, you always were an insufferable prissy boy, and you took pride in it too, didn't you. Doesn't it choke you? It would for me.
I'm still mad, Dan. I'm mad at you for just being so shallow, and still outdoing me every which way I turned. I couldn't think straight when you were around, because everything from the way you carried yourself to your affected voice attracted me when it shouldn't have, god damn it I'm Irish, I'm Catholic. I was going to be a lawyer and marry some nice half Jew girl - Grandpa John wouldn't approve - because she was boisterous and aggressive and what am I, some pale boy from upstate New York, never got with a girl in my life. We were going to have seven kids because I wouldn't use condoms, I was going to be a drunk, watch Clint Eastwood films with my kids, teach them to bash anybody who got in their way. But you drew me in, and left me in the lurch, and I had nothing, I went for you with everything I had and I never got anything out of it, you owe me damn it, something should've switched or changed. Now I do this dance six days a week and the guys here don't tip well, and padding on my hips hurts too much, and I hadn't ever worn heels when I started this job. You're in some liberal arts college that you got into because your family is rich, you asshole hapa, with your millionaire white dad and your gold-digging chink mother.
I'm still a drunk, Dan, but now I'll always be a drunk for you.
>>7533710 I'll write it in French, her English isn't great,
J'ai rarement l'impression d’être loin de toi. Vois-tu, ton image se reflète constamment sur mes iris. Les souvenirs que l'on a écrit reviennent encore maintenant à moi et laisse une saveur amère, presque écœurante. Un goût bien différent de celui de tes lèvres. Enfin... Qu'importe les phrasés lourds et pseudo-poétiques, ce que je souhaite te dire est simple : pardonne-moi. Tu craignais que je te déteste alors, par orgueil, j'ai sans doute voulu déjouer tes attentes. Tu m'as brisé, avec tes fabulations, tes humeurs, tes peurs traduites en diktats. Cette déception n’était qu'une leçon. Nous nous retrouverons, Léa.
I ran it through google translate since I can't speak baguette worth a damn.
I rarely like being away from you. You see, your image constantly reflected in my iris. The memories that you wrote to me now return again and leaves a bitter taste , almost sickening . A very different taste of your lips . Finally... Whatever heavy phrasing and pseudo- poetic , what I wish to say to you is simple: forgive me . You feared that I hate you then pride , I probably wanted to thwart your expectations. You've broken with your fabrications , your moods, your fears translated into diktats . This disappointment was only a lesson. We will meet again , Leah.
Know this , I will marry you.
Was that what you wanted to get across? It's really touching, anon.
You're so fucked up I decided to write a novel about you and how fucked up you are. I could never date you, or even be friends with you, though, so I hope to god you don't read it. I could never trust you. I wish you weren't fucked up. You're also gorgeous and I'm hideous, so I'm aware it doesn't matter. I hope you get your shit together one day.
I want to use your real name so badly in the novel, too. The people in your little scene will know the character is you anyway. Nobody else has a diaper fetish.
You've only to reach out for me; I've been here all along. When I look into their eyes, I see yours, ever expectant. I'm terrified of fading away without you. We've survived divorces, major moves, academic faults, life-threatening seizures, depression, and rejection. Why can't we just be happy?
>>7537706 other way around, the manic pixie dream girl is the current iteration of the muse, only cringier and missing the point because the guys have to be audience stand ins and aren't allowed to have a personality and more importantly a craft.
also you're supposed to beseech the muse for inspiration, not fuck her. the interaction between a muse and an artist is far more religious than it is casual dating.
>>7537453 This might be the worst writing i've ever read Not because of actual quality But because of how much effort when into something to sound so fucking complex and unique, it reads like a dictionary, zero flow or pacing, just slightly bigger word after slightly bigger word and "deep" emotional thought after "deep" emotional thought.
We had stopped skyping so I couldn't believe in myself. When I found you online I couldn't believe myself. Reversed when I imaged searched and found some Ting. I thought that I could feel more passionate for you if I relieved my passions on her, Ting. But I'm a fucking idiot for not realizing the exact opposite would happen. I still can't get you off my mind sometimes even though you can't get me off anymore. I've lost hope for us because of our long pause. I realize now how much of a sperg I am around you. I just can't control myself when I'm enjoying my time with you. And you've let me lose my love for my friend. I can only see an asshole now, looking into that man. I see too now that I too am an asshole. I try to improve my behavior but it hasn't worked. I'm not improving and because of you I've lost my self-confidence too. You've given so much to me by showing me what I've never had. In a way all my thoughts of you are in gratitude. I want to improve because of you, but its the hardest thing in the world to feel like I ever do.
>>7537696 I know that feel. Never felt the guilt though, because I was able to provide that same feeling to her. Which is really all she ever wanted. But then I went to college, and instead of content I wanted to feel excitement and chaos and cool and all those things, so I stopped giving a shit about her and she hated it and we parted ways. And now college is half over and I would do ANYTHING to get that back. All my soul ever craves is that beyond spiritual contentment that makes you impossibly pleased with your place in the universe. All the sex with strangers and friends and all the nights out shitfaced with buddies has not done anything for my soul and now my brain is slowly frying itself out of fustration that I may never find a release like that ever again. The only thing I want more than getting over her is to be with her. We don't talk much, I fucked and then started dating one of her friends (who I fucking hate). But everyone once in awhile I see her around (we went to colleges right next to each other) or she texts me about her pseudo-depression (she isn't doing well either, she repeatedly falls for guys who always end up breaking up with her before they even start dating. i imagine her soul is on also on a quest for release) and how she can't handle it. She wants to meet up for coffee next week. Even though it would make us both so happy, nothing will come of it. And our sad lives will continue.
>>7538022 She was WAY more of a sperg than I was. I'm in basically a frat at a huge party school and she's at the nerd college down the road, friendless. But fuck me I want her so bad. She's pretty depressed about how alone she feels and I want to give her everything
I miss getting drunk and watching Power Rangers on Netflix . That was what made everything okay. What makes it okay now. All of it. It's okay that you never felt comfortable naked with me. It's okay that you were sometimes mean to me for no reason. It's okay that you lied about stuff you liked just so that I'd be impressed by you . That time after we drank a whole bottle of rum each you called me a fucking sociopath and said I had to leave? That's okay. I just hope that what I'm doing now is okay too. I hope that we're still in love when I'm finished. I hope I'll still be your muse as well.
The guy you're with is very attractive. It seems like you have feelings for me, too, just not as much. You'll probably get married soon. It hurts a lot, but I'm honestly okay with being friendzoned because I'm lucky to even have you as a friend. Realistically, I was too much of a fuckup to have a good life like the rest of our friends after college anyway. It never would have worked.
>>7533710 if i could stop repeatedly making cups of tea and then leaving them to go cold and stewy, i would. if i could remember my doctors appointments, or even remember to book them in the first place, i would. if i could, for once, not lose a job because after the interview i forget to give a proper address for the DBS check and get a tolerable if interminably cold response. sometimes ill buy a 160-pound pair of shoes only to never wear them and be too unaware of the fact that I could make money off them if they were sold. sometimes ill drink so much i have complete memory blackouts. sometimes important things slip through the gaps. sometimes ketamine makes it all to easy to forget. sometimes i wake up a week and a half after seeing you, after messaging repeatedly with no response, one final i miss you! lets go out for dinner tonight x replied, maybe an hour or so later, with a simple don't you remember what we talked about the other night?.
you wanna know what the worst part of being dumped in slow-motion? how the fuck do you mend something that died so long ago?
I know he's objectively less attractive than me, he has less of a personality than a bag of hammers, he's dumb and he seems to be clingy.
Do you like him because he's studying something that will get him a job and isn't in this stupid academic limbo I've chosen? Did you leave me because I used to be sad all the time and couldn't be assertive, nor know what I wanted to do? Or is it just that god forbid, he has a bigger dick than me?
Hey - I know I promise a lot and seem confident in outcomes that have no guarantee of certainty, but it's the only way I can comfort you, when the other outcomes are so grim.
Trials are coming up ahead for us and I'm already in the middle of them. I promise you we will get through them all, together, in stark defiance to the distaste of others.
I can't wait to wed you, settle down raise a large, strong family and eventually die with you, although I don't express it for rightful fear of your disgust for the concept itself, I am wholly yours. I would literally debowel myself or jump out of a building if you truly wished it. Forever yours, _
I may not be good at much. In fact, I'm diagnosed as a retard. And I may not smell very good. In fact, my odor is offensive. Nobody seems to like me much, and I can see why. First of all, I look weird and I never both to exercise or eat well. Secondly, there's a weird rash on my groin that I keep scrubbing but that only seems to make it worse. Listen to me, though, going on about myself. I think you're so pretty. You make my little pinky-sized member turn into a big German sausage. And you'll take that sausage and you'll like it. When I think about, I think of nothing but sex, terrible sex that neither of us will be able to forget. We will use all kinds of tools and instruments to aid us with the sex. We'll run out of lube but we'll keep going anyway. When I close my eyes I can only picture our exposed organs, your sweaty vagina with its coarse stubble, my aching and rashy member, you bouncy butt which smells like a mixture of sweat and feces. I love you babe and I think we should be forever together. Nobody can take our love away from me, not even God himself (P.S. I am a Christian and I take my religion seriously). Thank you for reading this. Jake
>>7543550 We were dating in the past and she was holding back my social life (hated my friends, had alienated all of hers) so I stopped putting any energy into our relationship until she broke up. Too bad I can't travel back in time and slap past me. Sex with strangers is not at all worth sex with someone you Love
I wronged you. I'm sorry but I shouldn't be, can't be anymore. You could forgive me but I've only proven a leopard can't change it's spots. Keep you're forgiveness: it would be pathetic for me to ask it, and pathetic for you to give it. I shan't claw at your ankles on those lonely nights where you hate me more than ever anymore, you can run into that rain if it is your wish. Grow cold, but strong, Just go if you must.
>>7533710 I fucking hate you. Your reactions to my existence are the representation of my most deep fears and what haunted my life since I was very little. It crushed my world and made me feel like the kid that I drowned on confidence and tenacity throwed sand to my eyes.
I don´t stand your games. You sure did some damage on me, keep the distance from me or you will know what is bad, don´t try to tease or bait me again to give me the back a second after I pay you attention or we both are going to know what pain is.
If you are going to fuck other guys and treat me like inferior just dissapear. I don´t wait for anybody and at this point, my life doesn´t wait for me.
>im not entirely sure what i wanted from you tonight. it isnt so simple like it once was, and now when i hold your hand it isnt for comfort but for confirmation. i wish i could make this work in a way where you & i are on the same page, but im afraid thats never going to happen because i care about you more than you think i do. i was afraid to put my feelings into words tonight because my voice sounds silly when im sick. i wanted to tell you sappy things and then break into tears, but all that came out was a whimper, and when you asked me to repeat myself, i told you "goodnight" and cried on the way home. i almost turned on the windshield wipers when my vision got cloudy. i need you to know that i enjoy spending time with you even if we're not having sex, that our fluid transition from "hooking up" to "dating" was one of the happiest times of my life, but im too afraid of a lackluster response. i suppose thats just the way it goes
wrote this one almost a full year ago. we broke up, for the third and hopefully final time, yesterday because of college. love her more than i ever had, lit
Too bad you're not tangible, and sometimes I question if you're even real. You drive me and everyone I know towards the same precipitous cliff and force us to jump. You're probably what we call Satan, but all the while you divinely inspired many a great man to write fiction on your behalf and revere you to the edge of human capabilities. I speak in contradiction only because I don't understand you, and never will I in the many multitudes of lives I'll never live.
It's really hard to explain the way I feel about you. I can try, and I know I won't do it justice, but I feel like it's worth it to try. Every day I see you, I wake up with you and your warmth wrapped around me like a tight blanket, sometimes my heart at that moment feels full to the breaking point. I catch glimpses of you throughout the day, I watch you move with sidelong glances, and I can't think of any other person i'd rather be watching. Sometimes, when we go out to get food I'm proud just to stand with you, I don't even have to look at you to know that everyone else is looking at you too. You're beautiful, in every written and non-written sense of the word. I find myself wishing a lot of the time that I was more creative, and that there were more words, just so I could use them to describe you and savor those descriptors on my tongue for a while. When I look at you looking at me I feel complete, even when if my mirror is dirty. That's all I can say, I wish I had more.
I've never spoken to you. But you know my name. And I know yours. There is something about you, just a little something, that makes you stand out to me. When we pass by each other in the halls, when I see you at your locker, when my muddy brown eyes meet with your clear blue saucers, I feel something. I'd like to hold your petite hand in my paw, and gently stroke your fingers, feeling the fine hairs on your knuckles.
You are short and I am tall. You are career-driven, intelligent, and disturbed deep inside. I know about your father. I know that he haunts your thoughts at all times. I know that you know about my mother. Let us come together, and let me hold your warm body against as me as the tears fall down your face.
Oh, my Katherine, I've never spoken to you but I miss you so. I have been with women before. Women whose kisses felt like plastic and who I could not say that I ever so much as thought about loving. You are different. You could be mine. How I miss you so.
(Yes, this letter is pretty shit but fuck it I'll never send it)
Ten thousand salutations, my good gentlewoman. I am writing you to confess a Secret. For the past several weeks following our initial encounter at the Chipotle restaurant wherein you find employment, there has been a hunger waxing tumescent within my heart, and a hollowness within my Groin that knows not the Touch of Woman or Self alike. Keep caution now, for I know that through the use of your feminine cunning you have no doubt ascertained that I speak so boldly of Carnal Love.
Understand, Maiden-Child, that in spite of my genuine belief in decorum and chivalry, my emotions now so move me that I must be Vulgar. When I last saw you upon the previous Monday evening, with the scent of cilantro and warm tortilla in my Lungs and the pleasant and catchy melodies of mid-90s pop music in my ears, I became Consumed by a primordial desire to Leap across the glass cage that separates your customers' sneezes from your wares, and Wrap You and a sizable helping of Steak and Black Beans into a single enormous Burrito for Mine Eating.
Lady-Queen, listen: I must have you Physically. I must have you with Sour Cream, Pico de Gallo, Queso, and No Salsa. The fire of my hunger burns me hot enough.
When we meet again, you will know my intentions toward you. Will thou accept a humble and dirty old poet such as myself, or will you throw me to the streets, forcing me toward a midnight scrounge at the Taco Bell?
When the night settles in, no one is around. I find comfort in being alone as no one keeps me on the ground You make an exception to my one life rule It's almost like I'm drowning in a pool I love you with all my heart And even from the very start You have been a throbbing crush Oh baby please don't rush
For if the sky were parchment and the sea the ink, only then could I write to you of my love
A condemnation of the highest seriousness, without an atom of blandishment intended, only truth, and mostly spite: you have made me pathetic. You should know this because of how pathetic this must sound, and still more pathetic because of how I doubt myself, when perhaps the confession I would like to make - that I am completely a slave to your gestures, especially your involuntary gestures which cannot lie, and even more your involuntary gestures which perhaps you do not know you are making and maybe that I am not entirely conscious that you are making, in the corner of my eye as my heart churns and bubbles exciting, terrifying affections, when you cross your legs toward me and before I can think of what I read once that that means I know what it means, when, oh god, your eyes are open so wide, or when you ignore me, when I can see your attraction to anyone and everyone but me, when you can sense me feeling insecure and compliment me even sometimes truthfully but nonetheless meaninglessly, with the infinitely significant footnote that you know how pathetically insecure I sincerely am (oh shameful consciousness of consciousness!) - this confession could be charming honesty, or, I laugh at the suggestion, requited. I will leave that shameless lie and attempt to conceal my brainless hope in shallow, transparent hopelessness, while suggesting the hypothetical, impossible idea that your are reading this and not laughing and cringing but smiling and swooning and saying "No, No! It is not impossible one bit!" It seems as though you make me so pathetic that I cannot even pretend to be hopeless in front of without a reference to how pathetic the attempt was. If you knew what you meant. Jesus god, I am using exclamation points unironically to express myself truthfully. I must. Please, I know you are confused but I know you love me back. You must, you must, you must! How could I think otherwise? It is impossible for me to think otherwise! I have said too long that I don't believe to myself that you will ever love me, but it is a lie, a languid, lazy lie, I do not believe in it and I never did!
Ive stopped looking for you the way i used to hoping to catch just a glimpse of you hoping to just be near you enough to remember what it felt to be insane eaten from the inside soul and body by the sickness of love.
My heart no longer skips a beat when a car that looks like yours passes by i no longer remember your voice your smell your taste the feeling of your skin all thats left of you is a memory of all the things that never were.
You're always right in front of me. We talk offhandedly through conjunction of our mutual friends but we never really say anything. I don't know how you think or feel, it's because you're shy and I'm too busy loving you from aloft to remember to try to know you better. I'm no good for you anyways, you're lovely as anything and I'm a stone with a rope you'd tie to your ankle if you really felt like breathing water. I want to be around you, I want to be beside you while it rains outside, but my better conscience wont let me do that to you.
It was a sin for us to love, it's a blessing that we remain.
Yet, our troubles remain. Can't you see my chaos? The inhuman in me? I am bull made of water whose charging waves aim for you! Did the majesty of my petty words blind you form the danger of myself, or do you intend to embrace the inevitable crash hoping my waves pull you in, deep towards the ocean of myself. Do not waste your time! Alas there is no ocean, I am only abyss, an assembly of scars and moments of light spiraling downwards as black-hole would, no ending point but only infinite compression of eternal moments.
Have I overestimated myself? You have faced death, I have not, You are facing the dying, I will not, You have been hurt in different ways that I will never understand, for I can't, and lastly you deal with me, something I avoid at all cost. I wonder, would my monsters be gifts to you? would my heavy burdens be light on your back? Is your definition of love more wise than mine? I don't trust your answers so I look at the infinity of possibilities in interpretation.
But, I must withdraw. I am burning too much. You seek to cool my flames to feel the heat of my-skin; however I rather burn then feel the heat of another, for I am scared of fire, but can not see my own.
Years ago, you asked me how to ask a girl out because you didn't know how to do it; I told you I didn't either. I apologized for my ineptitude, you didn't speak to me again. I was not sure that brief exchange actually took place.
An year later you traveled all the way here, not to see me. We met once. That night we took a cab with another three people. I was taller and you were tiny so on the way to the lake I felt your weight pressing me down against the seat. I smelled the smell of your breath when you spoke.
Then you introduced me to semiotics. Whatever happened? You talked to me. I remember the ice cream I ordered on the ice cream parlor fifteen minutes from my apartment. I remember the exact moment I got your message, when the lady handed me my cone, the first lick reading your text asking me wherever I was and why I was not responding. I had talked to you just before I left the house and just fifteen minutes later there you were, calling for me. Whatever happened? After that, I made sure I never left my phone alone for more than five minutes.
You told me about your abusive relationship. I told you I had never had my heart broken. You teased, cruel, you asked me if I wasn't curious about what it would feel like.
You told me about your depression and laughed about talking to me as you threw up from drinking too much. You joked: we're officially dating now. Sorry, [gf].
You did not leave your phone alone either... for a time.
Two months later, you took a bus to your ex-girlfriend's city. And disappeared, for days on end. Showed up for brief chit-chat. Pretended not to read any of my messages asking what was going on. Talked to me as less than friends. Got a photo taken by her, proudly posted to instagram. Got a tattoo done, paid with her money.
I was sure I imagined we were closer than we really were. I was sure I got it wrong.
You went back to her. I could not hate you.
You introduced me to semiotics; nothing failed to remind me of you.
My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.
You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope you will surprise me some time when I am asleep dressed, steal over to me with a whore's glow in your slumberous eyes, gently undo button after button in the fly of my trousers and gently take out your lover's fat mickey, lap it up in your moist mouth and suck away at it till it gets fatter and stiffer and comes off in your mouth. Sometimes too I shall surprise you asleep, lift up your skirts and open your drawers gently, then lie down gently by you and begin to lick lazily round your bush. You will begin to stir uneasily then I will lick the lips of my darling's cunt. You will begin to groan and grunt and sigh and fart with lust in your sleep. Then I will lick up faster and faster like a ravenous dog until your cunt is a mass of slime and your body wriggling wildly.
Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier.
I just want to be perfectly honest, so I'll start by saying you are not that great. You're cute, and sometimes you're not boring. You were so important to me because for a while there I thought I had you in my grasp. We can only choose from what's made available to us, but no one is ever satisfied with their choice. That's how I felt about you, and I know for a fact you felt the same. We had some good times, but most of the time you bored or annoyed me. Now I just hope I get the chance to kill you and the idiot you're engaged to. You make me feel like such a failure. When I realized you were going to choose him over me, I began to suspect that the universe was playing a huge joke on me. The punchline is that people are going to disappoint you so bad, but at least I didn't make such a stupid fucking decision. Now when you cross my mind, I think the only solution is to destroy you and your fiance to remind myself that it's possible to destroy my own failures. I failed to see you for who you really are, and I allowed myself to develop feelings for a big fucking joke. Everyone you meet is going to let you down. You're going to let yourself down. Your fiance is going to continue being just a normal, boring dude, and you are going to keep being you. Just know that when I'm at your wedding, I'll be thinking about tying you and him up in your house and setting fire to the whole damn thing.
>>7543219 Overwrought was the word I was looking. Pouring paint on a painting can ruin it the same way overthinking the formal language can ruin a piece of writing. Just write something thats true. If you need to use an elaborate word to describe something more precisely, do it, or if you need it for a wordplay or smth, do it, but don't do it just for the sake of doing it.
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