And why we're on the subject

What, exactly, is it about me that's so scary?

Nevermind. I'm pretty sure I know what it is, even if she doesn't. It's pretty easy, actually.

I give of myself so easily. I guess for someone, who, like most of us, has so many barriers built up around their heart, it's hard to understand someone, especially someone so recently out of the kind of relationship she thinks I must have had with Steph, who is so willing to be so open. But that's what makes me different I guess. I don't want any of the games. I don't want to do the dance. I don't want to worry about what ifs, whys, or hows. Fuck. Just DO it. You know? Why does it have to be so complicated? Yeah, so if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. Big deal. It hurts for awhile, you cry, you write sad songs, you write mad songs, you move on with your life. Most likely to do the whole thing again.

So what if I want to skip the superficial stage? I don't want that. I don't need it. I want something real. I'm not really sure what that means, real. So whatever. Sorry if I say things that scare you. But I'm sure I will. I'm not like anyone you've ever met before. And that's not ego talking.

Except I'm not

Where did that come from? I'm I controlling? Am I really that egotistical? Or was she just pissed because I heard something she didn't want to get back to me? Whatever. Fuck it.

You know, I really did like you. I'm sorry that you misinterpreted me. But then, it's not really my job to interpret the things that I say for you. Maybe it didn't come out the way I meant it, or maybe you just distorted it through your own twisted lenses. Sorry, but I have a hard time taking you seriously when you have made absolutely zero effort to get to know me. Don't pretend like you do.

I know what's bugging me about it. I'm usually such a strong judge of character, and I didn't see this coming. At all.

Well fuck you lady. I'm not a creep. I'm not one of those guys who treats women like a piece of property. And most importantly, I don't have to answer to you. You don't know the first thing about me, let alone where I'm coming from. I'm a GOOD boyfriend. And I know it. Just because you only know about guys from the ones you pick and the way they treat you, don't assume we're all the same.

Sick

Why is this feeling so often associated with this girl? Now that I'm thinking about it, why is this feeling only ever associated with worrying about somebody that I care deeply about? People associate the butterflies and the little electric pinpricks with love, but you know what? I get those sensations waiting to see a show. I get those sensations writing a poem. That's not love. Apparently love is feeling like you have a completely empty void in the bottom of your stomach, and something blocking the back of your throat.

I'll probably never understand what happened with Mark and why. Mostly because she will never tell me. She thinks that I don't and won't understand, so she doesn't try. She doesn't want to dissappoint me. She doesn't a lot of things because she thinks it best that way. Well I wish she would. I really, really wish she would.

Selfish

I'm way too selfish for this to work. I don't want to share. I don't even want to acknowlege the fact that those feelings might (and do) exist on her end. I want to just close my eyes and delude myself, like every other time.

But I know that's wrong. I know that's the last thing we need. Because they are there, and that's all that it will ever be -- a delusion.

I know what it's like to wait for someone. I learned early. And getting what you've been waiting so long for doesn't necesarily mean that when you get it you will be happy with it. But because you had waited so long for it, you convince yourself that it really is what you want. Thank you, Aleiha, for that. But nobody can tell you any differently while you are waiting, because it has been programmed into you by movies and bedtime stories and fairy tales that good things come to those who wait, and the guy waiting on the girl always gets her by the end of the movie, and they live happily ever after on a bed of roses. And we all think we're the guy in that movie, waiting there with the purest intentions to rescue this damsel who can't tell her own ass from her cockhead boyfriend who isn't any good for her.

Fuck that. She's a smart girl, and she can make her own fucking choices. She has every right to date/marry/fuck whatever guy she wants to, and what right do we have to say anything about it? We delude ourselves into thinking that being her boyfriend gives us some say over her actions, we think that we own her. Why else would we feel jealous when she talks/flirts/fucks other guys? Because we think we own her. But we don't.

Poly is not the answer. I think I see that, now. Sorry E, don't think it's for me. Why? Because I'm just as guilty as every other guy on the planet -- I want her to be mine. It's that simple. I like feeling in control, and feeling like I have nothing to worry about because she loves me and only me. But I realize that's just an illusion. One I willing buy into for the sake of my own ignorance, because then I don't have to spend every minute trying to stifle my own rising bile, every time I hear his name mentioned or see his fucking picture. Is this what hate feels like? Irrational, purely emotional hatred? Is this the sort of feeling that drives human beings to coldly murder their fellow man, and never feel a twinge of conscience driven remorse? No. I'm better than this. I know I'm better than this.

I know she loves me. Why can't that be enough for me to forget this?

As Promised

As promised, my thoughts, uncensored. If you're reading this and you know me, sorry. You should probably stop. No telling who might take offense and start sending anonymous threatening email to my girlfriend. As I've mentioned before, and I can't stress enough, I absolutely relinquish all responsibility for any and all content that you or anyone you know might take exception to. Why? Because I don't give a fuck, and because you had to expend a marginal amount of effort just to BE here. So if you have a problem, I would direct your attention upward, to the little button sporting an x. In other words, find something else to read that is more willing to play by your rules and suck your little ego's cock than I am. Because I'm tired of it.