You keep telling me you don’t want more, that you don’t feel more. You say you can’t and that it’s just a part of who you are right now. I accept those things as your reality, as the truth of you. I hear you, and I can tell you that I’m not blind. I can read emotions, I see the look in your eyes, I hear the words, live the moments. You treated me with all the kindness and desire of one who had your heart at those times, and your eyes said it was true.
What about that night when I lay still beside you, and you thought I was asleep. Tenderly you tilted my head and kissed my lips. That kiss was so heartfelt, that night was so emotional, and our connection so real, that to deny the emotions behind it is to slander its memory. It wasn’t the only kiss of it’s type, the kind that doesn’t just say ‘I want you’ but says ‘You mean so much to me.’
What about when we were in the heat of passion, and I asked you what you wanted, and you told me “I just want to feel close to you.” And we rode the wave of our mutual vibrations with uplifted hearts. Our lovemaking never felt empty or unfelt on either side.
What about when we wove our dreams in a colorful web of ideas, talking about the possibilities of the universe, and of our own existences, and smiled knowing that we were both a part of that mutual excitement. So often our ideals traveled the same road, and we longed to make changes in areas that few would give a moment to consider. I marveled at our similarities, while you took them for granted.
I think your in denial, your in the past. You’ve been living there all your life and you can’t see your way out now. One mistake shadows all mistakes, one relationship shadows the rest. You can’t see that me and your past are separate, that no man or woman must follow a set guideline for how we are together, besides trust, loyalty, honesty, and empathy. We had those things when we were alone. But behind the walls of your self-dilution when apart I was taken from the throne of your heart and cast among the sea of women. All the complexities of my spirit, like a multihued flower, made to feel like the bud of a weed.