From the Pen

I miss you.

This is something I can genuinely say even after all the hurt and pain you have caused me, twice.

I do miss you.

Because I miss you, I feel sad over the fact that you and I failed not once but twice. We failed twice yet I continue to think of you, see you in places you will never materialize and dream of scenarios that will never come true. These hurt because they will never come true but they comfort my mind at a level I do not understand.

Like the last time when I told you of the stories I was reading about the meaning of space, I read these stories of people in long distance relationships. The ones that have made them work enough to get to their happy ending and the ones that failed because of life’s interferences.

We could have made it work, if I had been given the chance. I know I would if I knew your truth and was of importance to you as you claimed. But, you were never as open with me as I was with you. You were only accountable to yourself and because of your age and sex, you subscribed to the notion that a man is only accountable to himself.

It is sad, no? I am of the thought that you should have taken the steps necessary to improve the bits about you that were unsavory. You were fully responsible for the excavation of the romantic feelings I felt for you. For that matter, it was your responsibility to protect them like they were your own.

Who am I kidding? I have been here before. A place when all I do is nurture feelings for people whose interests lie elsewhere and all they want from me is to boost their ego, give them emotional support while their real life relationships are on the bend and I am simply available to them because I do  not know better.

I digress. The one thing I have learned this year, thoroughly at that is “people are not responsible for your feelings. You alone are.” I learned this from you and so many others that resurrected and died this year. I still hold you responsible  because before you, I was minding my single business without a niggle of hope as to change in status. Not until you came along to sway my heart.

Your words were beautiful. They went straight to the parts of me that were unaware of how much they needed them. Parts of me that had long forgotten what it meant or felt like to feel for a man, to want and bask in his attention. Parts that had inadequate experience in entertaining the attention of a man. You thought I made you feel like a King, well, you made me feel desirable.

Thoughts of you would fill me with a certain warmth, my lady parts would throb sporadically in anticipation of your presence, your touch, the warmth of your embrace. You were the truest reminder of my femininity. I had never anticipated anything more than my potential experiences with you.

It is such a shame that the crumbs you sent my way were all you could do for me. You never called me, I requested so much for photos of you and you never sent any. You would tell me that you were dancing and would not send a video yet you do capture several moments of you doing random things for your audience on Facebook. To cap it all off, you never once asked me to come see you when you lost your father. You never offered to come see me despite the fact that we lived not far from each other.

Your words were so incongruent with your actions. You told me you loved having your dick held while you slept because it was your gesture of comfort. I thought it the most intimate thing that can be shared between two people. How naïve I was. It was not intimate, was it? This is simply words thrown around to strangers to make them think they are important yet they are nothing more than people to waste time with.

I have been denied so much by life. So much. It is sad you had to be among the people and experiences I keep being denied of. I will think of this as a positive once I have seen the positive manifest. Until then, let me wallow in regret. I was so open with you than any other individual in my life. It baffles me that my openness with you came naturally. I guess, that is who I was for you. For the person I thought you were.