I sit on the sideline taking notes. I listen to the words lavished and withheld. I listen to the receptivity of welcomed advances and variations of approaches. I make side notes which offer explanations why it's not me you're talking to.
I understand the dynamics of conditioning, but it doesn't ease the ache. The longing, to have thick lips arch upward at my coming, could be pulled out of me and used as a cloak. The envy alone makes my gut feel overripe. I would love to spend time under the gaze of your eyes, to be lost in the passion you pour out with ease. I could grow tall and straight in love like that or maybe I am seeing grass painted green.
There was a time, somewhere deep in our DNA, where you held me up like that. I was as precious to you as the night sky to a sailor. You loved me so much, you created your gods in my image, believing I had to be their ambassador. A mutation of evolutionary necessity must have happened or you listened to someone who wanted to take your place.
I am jealous of how her hair cascades over your face. I fight the pain inside every time you whisper her description in the air. Comparing her to ambrosia and aphrodisiacs while you leave the worst labels to me. It hurts to see my features on her frame, my words fall from her lips, my being imitated. It batters my soul that you lose yourself in her while blaming me because you cannot find your way.
I understand really, it's easier to love someone else's image.
Don't worry though, while I'm out here on the edge, I still think we can make it. I still believe you named the stars in the sky after me. I believe you dream of me, covering you like first hint of warmth after standing in the cold, when you touch her. I still believe it's in your DNA to love me, in spite of the grass being painted green on the other side.
No comments:
Post a Comment