on loving another.

A few months ago, someone told me
that she didn’t want to see me in a relationship
because she feared I would lose myself to the operation,
because I would be so completely consumed
in and with the other, I would forget my foundations,
and that sacrificing my autonomy for the sake of the union
was a romantic yet ridiculous offering
because living on someone else’s terms
and devoting myself entirely to just one other
was selfish. I would be stunted and cheat myself
out of my own growth and learning
and out of relationships with my friends
because I would become obsessed with pleasing solely the other,
and no one else.

I don’t see how wanting to love another is selfish.
It feels too human and inherent and obvious.
And it’s not that I value friendship less than romantic love.
I don’t want to be in a relationship just for the sake
of existing on one side of an ampersand
and having a consistent partner to have sex with.
I want to be in a relationship because I want to learn about love.
I’ve mastered unrequited love.
I’ve dealt with loss.
I’m more than well-versed in the art of mourning
and putting things back together again—
without the aid of the king’s horses and men
after a house falls out of the sky and crushes me.
But I know almost nothing about reciprocated love
on an intimate level.
I know that there is a whole other side to me
that has gone untapped because I have not yet
experienced reciprocated love
on a deeper and intimate level.

This isn’t a matter of feeling inadequate.
I love myself. I really do.
I just know I haven’t reached my full potential.
I want someone to fill the voids in my heart
that I know exist, and that I know I can’t fill by myself.

I want a teacher.
I want someone to prove me wrong.
I want someone to put me in my place
when my judgment is flawed—not in a condescending manner—
just in a way that shows he cares about my personal growth.
I’ve been practicing sainthood,
but I want someone to teach me humility and selflessness.
More than that, I want a companion,
a partner in crime.
I want someone to come home to.
I want someone to share a bed with.
I want someone to call my own,
and someone that can call me his.

an unexpected change of events.

and suddenly,
all the street lamps
have been turning on
as I pass beneath them,
instead of flickering off.
I pray that my luck has changed.

on forgiveness.

I wish I could be the bigger person
and give you the benefit of the doubt,
and full-heartedly believe that your intentions are pure.
I wish I could put my pride and pain aside,
and sweep our history under the rug
and pretend like it never happened
so that we might be friends again, and not strangers.
I wish I wasn’t straightjacketed by hesitance and fear
so that I could just accept your invitation
and go out for a drink with you,
catch up and make nice over cocktails.
Believe me, for the past year and a half, I truly wanted nothing more
than to rebuild our burnt bridges and mend fences with you—
I’ve been walking around with an olive branch in my back pocket
on the off chance that we might meet one another in passing.
Despite all of this, and despite my yearning to just suck it up and bury the hatchet,
I can’t help but feel that you still don’t respect me.
You didn’t show any regard for me when you
knowingly took me and my heart for granted two winters ago,
and now your sudden presence and persistence
after such an extended absence is cause for alarm.
I’m not trying to punish you, and I’m not trying to nit-pick and dwell.
I'm not trying to hold a grudge, but I can't just pretend
that everything is okay when it isn't.
It’s difficult to forgive and forget when an apology was never offered.
Call me selfish,
call me petty,
call me stubborn,
but please realize that, for a long while, I wasn’t living my life on my own terms
as I was thinking of you first, instead of myself.
I realize it’s also possible that I’m just fucking crazy.
I'm not trying to force you to own up to anything you feel you're not guilty of,
but please know that you fucked me up in a way no one else has,
and that I’m more than willing to happily help you wash the blood off your hands
if you’d just ask me to.