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.



Journal, Personal, Poetry, Sexuality

Invasion, fear, personal space.
Adrenalin, anxiety, closing off.

Legs tighten, breasts can’t be hidden,
hips protrude into the light.

I cannot hide. My body is on display,
like an exhibit in a museum.

People stare, people comment,and I must stay still
pretend to not be awake.