Dear Meh,
I keep trying to act like I know what I want from you or what I'm doing with you, but pretending has never been a thing I'm good at.
Sometimes I want to keep you close to me, possessively, because nothing turns me on more than the fact that you could be all mine and mine alone. "Eres mía forever." I would say. But then I realise that that's just a bullshit reality I decide to blind myself with. I can't own you simply because you like me, and I you.
Own. Like a possession of mine, an item whose owner is interchangeable depending on how much more sure of herself she is than I am. I want to possess you, its quite the irony that instead, I am the possessed. I still feel you pulsing within me, in more ways than one, tugging at my fickle fucking heart. A double mother fucking entendre that I can't seem to escape. Now I'm not claiming that I love you. No. You were my first almost everything. It would be unusual for you not to linger...
I liked that I walked away from you that day wearing your touch on my skin like a flowing gown made of an expensive silk, your kisses on my swollen lips, your smell that I had claimed had become mine "just like you." I have to keep reminding myself that you can't be that. Mine, I mean. Not anymore.
You were mine once, when our flame was young and had more fervour. It died out when I cut you off. No oxygen. I can't rebuild our fire on the ashes of the old one so you can't be mine.
This is my problem. I want to keep you but I can't because I don't want to restrict you and I don't want you to hurt me. I can't keep talking to you with a free conscience knowing that I could be just one of the others. The "bimbos"; a booty call. I can't keep you around because the more of the others I see, the more I loose bits of myself trying either to not care or to compete with them for you like you're the bloody grand prize. I can't keep up, but goddamnit, for you, I keep fucking trying even when it hurts like shit. I don't know what the fuck I want!
Its easier to think about you like an object I can own because its easier to detach myself from you that way. Like parting with a favourite jumpsuit. I want to hurt you before you hurt me. Before you get sick of fucking around, wasting precious time on meaningless sex and find the one and dump me for her. I cannot afford to get dumped by you after everything I've given.
I realised today, that I like you a lot more than I care to admit to anyone, thanks to our friend BL, and leaving you behind is easier said than done.
I still wear your bracelet around my left wrist and rub my right thumb across the course, braided material when you come to mind, and I imagine that I could reach in front of me and rub my thumb across your plump lip... I like that no one knows why seem I smile at nothing. I like that you know I'd be too shy to look you in the eyes if I ever got the chance to do it again in person. "Hi there." You'd say to get me to look at your warm, chocolate pupils, the gentle baritone of your gorgeous fucking voice would make me weak, and then you'd smile, possessing my body with your sweet charm and addictive charisma. You can't possibly not be aware of what you do to me...
I have become your possession, whether you know it or not; whether you like it or not. This undecided little shit you call 'eccentric in a good way' has become your play thing, your own custom made musical instrument. I don't know how to leave so that I can protect myself. If I can leave...
Sincerely, Tuyo.