Fuck you

I have been so conscious of letting you go. For real. But when my dad died, it felt crucial to tell you. I kept it short and yet again consciously letting you go. Cutting the energetic cords. Praying for total liberty of the fantasy of you. Leaning into the hands on ritual with music, dance and the artifacts of The Lovers. Keeping myself open to love, letting you go in peace. Opening myself to other men energetically. Finding beauty in them. Seeing what men are doing good. And yet again here you are. Grieving your childhood friend and I was the only one you felt would understand you. Yet again I had to keep it short. Almost rude. It's too vulnerable. When you insisting on knowing how I'm doing, I had to be clear on my boundaries. Yet again. You apologise for getting too close. I said the truth. I want you even closer. Owing it and keeping my distance. I can't do this half way. Or almost. Or entering this sweet moments when it's just that and nothing more. I asked God for a sign. Closer or further away. Here you are, closer. It's painful. Because even when I'm consciously letting you go, not feeding into the fantasy, every inch of me want you. Still. Desperately. Raw. Wildly. Acute.

So it hurts. When I ask you to stop asking. It hurts to shut down our conversations. I just want you. Damn you for making this complicated and painful. And damn you God , life, faith or my own stupid DNA for feeling you so deeply. You smell right. Your body hugging mine is the best feeling ever. You kissing me was so natural and obvious. I belong to you. My whole system knows. And I have to cut every cord and bounds. Forcing myself to redirect. To allow myself to griev, scream and mourn you. Life goes on. I'll keep my heart open to the man that chooses me fully. Go in peace. I love you. What a fucking lesson you are.