It’s one thirty in the morning – I just got home from work. Should be sleeping, in about six hours my alarm is gonna go off so I can get up and clock on to stand in a box and sell movie tickets for eight hours.
But I’m not sleeping.
How could I sleep after the day I’ve had?
exactly twelve hours ago I was laying exactly where I am now, except there was a mans lap beneath my head. His hands were combing through my golden hair and his eyes were gazing upon me like I was something magnificent. He smelled like he put on too much cologne. He was skinny. Curly brown hair. Wore a cute beanie and I actively try to ignore that if he and Leo were blurred images, I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.
I like to think that the things I feel for him are completely separated and not just manifestations of the things I felt for Leo.
I like to think that.
But I don’t believe it’s true.
When he holds me, I feel comforted. But when he fucks me, I can’t finish. The pleasure I got was not fulfilling after the fact, even when he kisses my forehead.
But the good news is, at least I don’t have these same feelings directed at Leo anymore. They have been separated. I’m not jealous about stupid things anymore. I don’t really care what he thinks anymore. I’m not constantly wondering about him anymore.
But when I’m on my knees refilling the popcorn seeds, and he’s standing there getting popcorn – the fact that my head is level with his dick still comes to mind. It still kinda turns me on.
But I remind myself about everything that has happened – all of the stupid shit he has done and said, when I remember that this is the same guy who doesn’t care enough about me to ever talk to me, I suddenly care so little.
Because he is never going to care about me.
Not if I sacrificed myself at the guillotine like Sydney Carton.
Not if I gave my first born child to save his life.
Not if I walk one hundred miles on hot coals to be by his side.
Leo will never care about me.
Not the way I want.
It seems so ridiculous, he is just a regular guy. Someone I have placed on a high pedestal and determined was special by some code. But he’s not. Realizing how regular he is was the turning point in the road for me. He’s this guy, a plain old regular dude, and even when I know this, he is special.
Maybe no one else sees it.
Maybe all of my friends will call him trash.
Maybe they will all think he’s a low life who can’t seem to get life straight.
But me? I see a light within him, a special quality that no one else has in my eyes, and Leo.
Leo has it.
Leo might always have it.
I need someone to see that same quality in me, because he fucking doesn’t. And that right there is why I could never actually love him. I have deep rooted affection, but in order to truly give a trusting love to someone, you have to believe they love you back.
I don’t think I could ever believe he did.
So I will probably tote around this knock-off, younger, more motivated version of him for the next three months while I try to convince myself I’m over him. I will probably convince myself that it’s Tristan I actually have feelings for in this situation. That none of it is really connected.
But I will know, when all of the lights are off and there is nothing to see but the engulfing and consuming darkness, that Tristan is nothing but a glorified sex doll to me.
And with that I’m gonna say goodnight.