You’re the reason I love throwing my hair up in a bun after a long day at work because it always makes me feel slightly more attractive. You told me how beautiful my profile was, how the nape of my neck just a bit too crooked with scoliosis wasn’t as hunchback-of-notre-damey as I’d been lead to believe 16 years prior. It was so out of character for you that I knew you meant it. Or at least I’d like to believe that you were genuinely struck by an unexpected bit of simple beauty that I wasn’t able to recognize, not just trying to get laid.
You’re the reason I’m so forward with my sexuality. You taught me that I needed to be agressive with what I wanted even if you never were. After all, that’s my job. I like getting my ass smacked a bit too hard and my hair being pulled a tad too aggressively. Your tools of embarrassment have become my weapons of self empowerment. I like it just a bit “too rough” because that’s how you introduced me to the world of love & sex & relationships & we both know I’m all about that homeostasis.
Four years later and you’re still the reason my heart speeds up before skipping a beat every time I see a mud-caked red Cherokee and my middle finger stiffens instinctively, because I know that’d really piss you off.
Part of me will always be that shy, self loathing little thing you decided you wanted to play with one summer. I never agreed to being the “other girl” but it was a title unwillingly bequeathed upon me. I guess that’s partly why it’s so easy for me to explore the mind of someone new whilst still trying to convince myself that I’m faithfully committed. Because it’s not so much cheating as it is testing the boundaries of our own preconceived limits, right?
You’re the reason every time I hear The Front Bottoms I get a little dreamy and distant. Or whenever “The Promise” comes on I shed a legit tear or two like a fucking lame ass (which I know you’d give me endless shit over. And rightfully so). Every memory I still have with you is centered around the extensive library of music we introduced eachother to. Like doing coke off a Mastodon mirror while doing our best Rob Thomas impressions to “3 AM” while your roommates begged us to shut the fuck up. Or wandering around your apartment butt ass naked just because it was funny for two days straight with Dark Side of the Moon and Albatross on repeat the entire time.
You’re the reason I keep it too casual and have decided to accept my fate as an uninformed side bitch. Because having a crazy star-crossed connection with someone you’re beyond into doesn’t mean shit when they force you to be too much of your genuine self – which is something you really aren’t comfortable with in the first place. You’re the reason I’d like to imagine my current situation would be completely different if you didn’t start “officially” dating the girl who hated the very small portion of things you actually enjoyed while still fucking the girl you genuinely got along with.
But who am I kidding? I am self made. Your strong winds and callous storms helped carve my sandstone soul but you did not make me. I embrace both the best and worst traits found in former lovers. These flawed parts I can’t stand in others (but all the while reluctantly notice in myself) have become something to remember you by.