His face, I did not yet know but I saw him.
I saw him in the shadows on the walls of the full but empty room. Full of bodies, empty of soul. I stepped in puddles of bass beats that pounded in my chest. In my hair. Over my wet, parted lips.
I thought he was the man in the long overcoat. He dropped something. Instantly to my knees, I took my place as his servant. Take my offering of the possibility you hold, I pleaded with my eyes, but it wasn’t him. Because what he said was “Thank you.”
He didn’t whirl me around and bring me to his breath. I didn’t feel his warm whisper in my ear.“Go away with me” he did not say.
I thought he was the man in the uniform. I slithered for him as I stared lust droplets from my gaze while balancing my dry martini.
It wasn’t him because he didn’t take my hand and walk me to his car.
He didn’t take me to his room and ravage the fullness that was my swollen hope.
He didn’t caress the tracks of tears where he was missed.
He didn’t share the space between my flesh and my bones.
He didn’t inhale the smoke left from the fire that was my longing to be wanted that scarred my landscape, and denied my blueprint.
I thought he was the turtle. The one who burned my labia with his past mistakes.
I thought it was him because when no one was watching, I floated past the boundaries my body held.
When no one was looking I was smiling from the inside of my throat, my arms, my pits and even my bones glistened when he touched my craving skin.
He made me a frog so it could not have been him.
I remember now what I should have known then.
I remember that pain I confused for love.
I remember the frequency his ravaging left me with, cold and empty, hungry for satisfaction, depleted, withered, tired.
I was looking or him my whole life. Like Cinderella and shit.
The fairy tale. The bullshit. The anger.
The fury the pain the catastrophe that was my expectation, that kept me from being young and wild and free and open and curious and kind and soft and brave and tender.
Not only did I miss my beautiful thirty three year old body, I missed the boys I fucked.
Because while I was feeling the satisfaction of being wanted, I missed who they were, what they had to offer.
Who was inside the pretty car? The one who opened the door for me?
I didn’t see that that wasn’t a ploy.
I didn’t see that he or they were just good guys and not just a tool to satisfy my hunger with.
He was a person and shit.
He had feelings, they all did.
Now I feel like an asshole. All hungry and longing and yearning and blah, blah, fucking blah, and shit.
Ew. I wanna leave you with a happy ending but that’s it folks.
That’s it. That’s what happened.