nina semen.

we haven’t spoken in a while. that’s normal for us, but different this time. the silence is so loud. it’s heavy. i’ve been keeping busy; being alone with my thoughts has been troublesome these past few days. i miss you. i miss you because you’re not there. you’re not waiting. i want to talk to you so badly, not to reconcile, or hash anything out, but to soothe your anger, your pain. i know i can’t, though. only time can do that. will time do that? i have to believe it will…

you wonderful, perfect man. each time i speak of you, it’s the descriptor i fall back on. perfect. you are everything everyone wants in anyone. my fluctuating level of contentment in our relationship causes me to question my sanity. i feel so inadequate by your side. you make me hate myself, i think. you make me doubt myself. you are so full of love, so compassionate and caring. you give your all. i am not; i cannot. i’m too afraid. i always will be.

how you have managed to be so brave i don’t know. you gave your heart to me. a fickle ambivert with scars on her ankles. you never took it back, even after all the times i spoke unconscionable words, did unconscionable things. at one point how much you love me gave me hope, and it made me believe that i could be a better person. then, i started to resent you. resent you because i couldn’t be a better person. resent you for loving me.

where does he get off, dealing with my bullshit? never telling me to go fuck myself? never walking away…

you ask me why i push you away and i don’t know. i don’t know. i don’t know. i don’t know. maybe i don’t trust you. no, that’s not it. i trust you. i know that you would never hurt me. i don’t trust myself. i can’t. you know that. well, you know that you can’t trust me. the reasons you can’t are the reasons i can’t. i took you for granted. i take you for granted.

each time i told you that i would try harder, that i would do better, that i loved you more than anything and i was sorry for being stupid, i meant it. i promise that it wasn’t a lie.

my intentions were pure, when i asked for a break. there’s no one else. there will be no one else, for the foreseeable future. i am just in pain right now, and i am unable to lean. i can only lash out. you don’t deserve that. you want to be there for me, but being there for me can only hurt you. i am not someone who understands how to be supported, emotionally. it makes me uncomfortable; it makes me mean. i don’t handle stress well, and being under a mountain of it right now…it’s not a good thing. i know i am flawed. i know i am more than complicated; i am impossible. i know that i have treated you badly.

you are the best man i have ever known. you deserve everything beautiful, no more pain. and because i cannot promise to not cause you anymore, and i cannot promise that i will ever figure out what makes me so awful, it was only right to end it, although i only meant temporarily. i understand that you could not give me what i asked for, and that you have given me everything. i am both happy about it, and sad. happy that you are putting yourself first, finally; sad that it’s over. i didn’t want it to be over.

it needed to be over. i decided that it was over, for our sake. i am sorry.

i think about you and the woman that you will inevitably meet in the future. i think about how she will appreciate you and love you and be so much better to and for you than i ever was. than i am capable of being. i think of her, this someone that isn’t me, making your ever changing eyes turn that electric shade of blue that they do when you’re happy and it makes my stomach churn and my nerve endings turn cold. i picture you on your wedding day, smiling and fulfilled and finally - after all this time and all of these women who tore you to pieces - whole and i…fold in upon myself and gasp for air, because i want so badly to be that someone. i want to be someone else.

i am too…not good enough. i am too not good enough. i never have been. i have never deserved you, and i never will. my metered emotions and cold touch aren’t enough. you are fire and sunlight, clouds and sex, film noir and krabby patties. i should be proud to have been able to call you mine, but i am not. i am ashamed. because you will be my one regret, i can tell.

i want to be someone else. i want to be what you need. i want to be who you deserve. i want to be good enough. i want to be someone who deserves you. i want to be someone with free emotions and an open heart. someone who cries when she’s sad, and sings when she’s happy.

but, i’m not.

so it’s better to let you go. it’s been so unfair of me to place you aside while i try to figure out how to be that someone else. i know you hate me right now, but i hope with every ounce of me that it’s only temporary. that maybe one day, maybe years from now you’ll call me and tell me that you forgive me. or at least that you’re not angry with me anymore. that you didn’t mean it when you said you wished you never met me.

i write this here, and hope that you will see it. part of me wants to email it to you. or pull out one of the Pacman moleskines you bought me, scribble a few pages. mail it. but i know you don’t want to hear from me right now, so i can’t. i was so selfish in our relationship, i can’t bring myself to continue to be after it’s over. i write this here, and hope that you will see it. i don’t even know if you remember this place exists. please, do.

because he writes me love letters: lustful and vivid love letters that are almost angry and violent in their intensity. because he leaves them everywhere: between the pages of whatever book i’m reading; inside my pillow case; in the cigar box that holds my jewelry; pinned to my bath towel; between the cushions of the couch.

because he speaks to me in obscure movie quotes and kisses me happily when i recognize what they’re from. because he makes me laugh by singing “I Wanna Be Your Man” and dancing like The Beatles in A Hard Day’s Night whenever i’m upset with him. because he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder like i weigh nothing and carries me where he wants me if i refuse to go of my own volition. because he asks to wash my hair for me. because he watches me sleep and admits that it’s more creepy and embarrassing than romantic.

because his nose is pierced. because his fingers are long. because his voice is so deep and rough. because he has a great ass. because, so many things.

he has me hemmed up beside my car. i don’t have enough space to slide away from him without us touching, that’s what he’s after. call me when you leave his place he whispers. i smirk; i tell him no.

it’s been so long. he’s inching even closer to me, breathing on me. that used to do something for me — to me. no longer. he doesn’t see how pathetic he is to me now, this man that i used to love.

his left hand is against the hood, beside my head. i tap him on his wedding band. i have tried over the years to get across just how over him i am, how over me he needs to be. he doesn’t get it.

i’m done, i say. i shove him away, harder than i meant to, and get into my car. i drive away with him standing there, that pitiful longing look on his face.

fuck off i mumble as i turn up the stereo, not to him, but to the old me that i no longer understand. the one that would have melted for that douche.

because when I don’t have work to do or classes to take I lie around naked watching silent films on Netflix instant, eating Tostitos and drinking ginger ale. or dance around in pajamas to music made before i was born, sucking chocolate off of my fingertips. either way, i need a man that can find the beauty in it.

don’t try to prop me up in pumps and drag me out through cigarette clouds. i’m happy where i am, today.

take your clothes off; get comfortable with me.

i open the door. the sight of him knocks the wind out of me. his blonde hair is not ruffled and wild like the day we met; it’s slicked into a side parted pompadour, razored close on the sides. the beard is gone; he must have shaved a day or so ago, there’s only stubble covering his hard, angled jaw.

he wears a sharp white button up - sleeves folded up to the elbows, a thin black tie, suspenders, dark straight leg jeans bunched atop espresso colored wing tipped bluchers. i notice the small details: the moscot miltzen glasses, the simple leather watch, the silver band around his right ring finger almost as thin as the hoop in his right nostril.

he is one of the most beautiful men i’ve ever seen, just as he was when we met and he wore a tattered t-shirt, cut off jean shorts and well worn converse, but now he’s styled like an extra from boardwalk empire…

i want to mount him in the hallway.

he smiles at me, white and wide, high cheekbones leading into deep dimples that cut down his face. you look amazing he says in greeting, leaning forward and taking me in a one armed hug. so do you. in these heels my cheek settles nicely against his shoulder, my eyes falling on the roses tattooed on his throat, peeking out over his collar. i linger where i am; inhale his scent. i can’t tell if it’s the pomade in his hair, a light splash of cologne or his deodorant or soap, but whatever it is i suddenly wonder why the rest of the world doesn’t have the decency to smell the same.

he has a gift for me: a book of Pablo Neruda poems. i contemplate asking him to marry me before i find out he’s not absolutely perfect, decide against it. instead i ask how he knew Neruda was my favorite. he didn’t, he says, he only knew that he was his own.

the marriage proposal dances in my mouth all night long.