And when he calls me bby
The neighbors are walking around.
It sounds like they are walking on the wall, but of course they are not. That would be so fucking amazing.
I’m ignoring phone calls, because I too am walking on the walls. I’m carving my name in the ceiling and right below an epitaph:
her escape route
Both times we failed.
First earlier, I could tell that he wanted to try even though I was crying. He just wanted to hold me and I could tell he was hard, but I simply could not bring myself to it. No no no he said and tried to kiss me on the mouth, it felt like he pitied me. There’s nothing alluring in pity.
When he came over later. It was reversed. I lamely pulled at his clothing while he checked his phone. We’re trying he said. I am throwing myself in the hole I said in my mind. Rejected on both levels. I lost my socks and he left.
In the between time I cried a lot. Outside the sun shone and I walked and blubbered, fucking fool. Then retreated. Alone in a stranger’s home.
I can’t eat I said to the dogs and they just listened.
It’s mother’s day. She’s just been texting me all day telling me not to come home.
I don’t want to hurt you he said, and therefore I am not.
They both do it to keep me on my toes.
One day you’ll wake up
and realize that it’s not them
I love you
Is just that thing you say when there’s really nothing else you wanna say. It’s an escape route, it’s the enemy -
It’s not asking why it’s not enough. Or when
is the last time you needed to touch those fingertips. is the last time you were hungry for that voice, that familiar feeling. Or proclaim secretly to yourself
this love shit is delicate
Instead of saying it, you should hold it and make sure that it’s still there.
"Remember when this was our song?
Remember when I was still allowed to post on your facebook?”
Can I escape from my house to yours?
I thought that maybe it was triggered by the happiness. As in “our collective happiness”. If I was a spiritual person I might believe it a testament to our “us”, getting closer to the non-divide between psyche and physicality. Women who really love crystals would surely have better explanations than I. Maybe I felt that we were cosmically aligned.
We are so happy that it only makes sense to find each others’ bodies in the night.
I am about to describe a phenomenon. I need to do this delicately, as not to give off the wrong impression. This “it”, I will compare to “Sleep Walking”, but where it’s not walking at all - but really “Sleep Fucking”. It is “Sex Walking”, because that title feels or sounds more appropriate in whatever way my mind sets these things up. It’s the “S” replacement word, really.
It started with the wet dreams. We both had them. Some wild mysticism propelled us both into the realm of nocturnal climax while we held each others’ bodies in still motion. Then our eyes opened. It was strange, but fun. Neither one of us had ever had those type of dreams before. A dream - amen?
And then began the dream sex or the “Sex Walking” - waking up mid-coitus, sloppy kisses and nonsensical, yet sexual sleep talk.
I wanna sex.
It’s probably happened many times and we just don’t even know. Never woke up. Slept right through it. Last night when I woke up it was in the warmth and frenzy of sex, but he didn’t wake up until moments later when he came. That is also a thrilling element to this “it”, the complete randomness of waking up or not waking up. Or watching him sleep while grappling my breast, or imagining the vice versa. Some sleep fetish shit.
I thought it was pretty spiritual until Today.
I realized that it has nothing to do with happiness. We both might be suffering from sexsomnia, which can be readily treated by benzos. We both might be suffering from something worse. We both might be done with cognitive, present sex. We both might be done.
Today, he mentioned off-hand how the special quality of “this”, might not be as special as I thought it was.
I wonder if the dream sex will replace the real sex.