Blending the Stroke.

To an old relationship, an old lover who knows too much.

Ahem.

On Black

Why you gotta beat me like that?
Why I gotta return and return and return to this shit?
Yes, why?
You’ve caused me immeasurable harm.
The money. The time. Oh, the wasted time.
You’ve taken what matters most to me: my pride.
No, not really. No one can do that to me.
But you DID set the stage for me to give that shit away.
Like a con game.
Like date rape.
Like a man who wants to believe he knew what he was doing.
When he obviously didn’t.
And yet my companions and compatriots are drawn to you.
They think you’re so funny and charming.
They do whatever they can to be near you.
They love the way you make them feel, how you see only them.
But it’s their reflection they see, not your eyes.
You have eyes for no one.
You are no one.
You are a dead relationship to me now.

On White

But you are so pretty.
So graceful in your movements and so well respected.
So cultured and educated!
And your cooking is beyond compare.
When we’re together, I feel like it’s all for me.
Like I’m special.
Like what I do matters to you, and when with you: everyone else.
We have so much fun together, you and I!
We never needed anyone else back then.
Just us.
Alone together, passing our days locked in constant caress.
That sounds really gay, but you know what I mean.
We’re more than that.
We’re more than ourselves when we’re together.
Like Wonder Twins, when we unite… it’s so on.
I still dream about us.
All the time.
Even though years have passed.
I will never get completely over you.
I don’t think I want to.

On Grey

Really, this is ridiculous.
We keep doing this to ourselves.
To me.
I keep doing this to me.
Because there never was an “us”.
And that’s okay.
Sure, we had some great times.
And we’ll have more, if we see each other again.
But we’ll never be as intimate as we were then.
We were new to each other, and that has weight.
Well, you were new to me.
You had seen guys like me a million times over.
Old hat.
And that’s fine. I hold no grudges, for that is who you are.
And I still love you anyway.
I cannot help myself.
You will always be carried in my soul.
But we will never carry one another again.
And I know that now, more than I would admit before.

Thank you for everything NYC, you filthy bitch of a fuck hole place that I cannot help but love with all my might with every bone and every fleshy cell of my body. Fucking fuck, you can be such a shit sometimes. Such bullshit... Such. A. Shit. And so can I.

Okay then. Now that I have that out of my system, let’s stay friends in the grey. Cool? Cool.

Love,

Me (you asshole)