here’s my take on what every situationship turns into.
One last time.
We said this the first time we got together.
And the next.
And shortly after our third and fourth rendezvous.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I’d always remind you, trying ever so desperately to remain the voice of reason between us.
We can’t... can’t... can’t stop.
It isn’t fair, nor easy. How can I be the voice of reason when your lips chase away every sense of rationality. Every touch emits a spark of potent passion. The tension as tangible as soul sand- tough at first grasp, faint and nearly invisible with every release.
“You promised we’d stop”- stop what truly? Not making it to the room? Leaving a trail of clothes wherever ‘passion strikes?’
You’ve caught me in a fix, tied to something I tried so hard to flee from. Falling, wallowing, wading in murky and turbulent waters; emotion as powerful as waves crashing rocks of what we thought was our foundation.
This was never supposed to happen.
I wasn’t supposed to meet you. I wasn’t supposed to run into you at that restaurant last year. I wasn’t supposed to fall to an effortless conversation with you nor feel like you were an old friend I hadn’t seen for ages.
This was never supposed to happen.
A mutual fascination was what we agreed to call it. You intrigued me from the very first glance. Reminded me of the ocean, calm yet menacing all at once, turbulent, unruly yet majestic and alluring all at once.
I never thought I’d call a man beautiful, till I met you. Your mind entranced me, your thinking so meticulous, out-of-the-box, new, innovative, fresh... I can’t even begin to look into a thesaurus to find the right words to describe the absolute phenomenon you are.
Mutual fascination, we called it. Nothing more. Just that.
Who would’ve thought it would turn physical?
A fascination concerning intellect muddled with hot need and greed for one another threw us to this mess in the first place.
It started with that damned kiss that had me frozen in my tracks yet burning with desire and fear and joy and grief all at once.
We rarely exchanged words from that day onwards. We let our hands do the talking, our shared whispers and mutters and grunts of approval share our highs and lows of that day- possibly week.
You barely stuck around after. Nor did I.
Mutual fascination after all, that was that.
Wrong.
Lust turned to fear that turned to anger that turned to shame that turned to regret that turned to sorrow that turned to submission and finally a jumbled up mess formally recognized as acceptance.
Love.
I know, I should be ashamed. I broke our one common agreement. Our one and only spoken pact but please don’t lie to me and tell me that this means nothing to you.
Don’t break my heart and drive me to a point of ill intent by placing my fragile heart in the same box with your collection of several others you captured.
Don’t push me to consider you dead to me by telling me all the words and the lines, promises and tender times were all part of a grander scheme and you just played your part and followed your lines.
I’ve come to a realization that this- we- us- whatever this is will absolutely, most certainly get one of us hurt.
And before I end up shattering what’s left of my heart and sanity, I wish to leave before it’s too late.
Before my hopes rise and I infatuate myself with this disillusioned conception of you reciprocating my feelings.
I mean well, this is for the both of us.
It’s not you, it’s me- no scratch that, it’s both you and I. We’re not meant to be.
I’m just abiding to our contract remember, mutual fascination- nothing more, nothing less.
When you see me walk out that door after tonight that’ll be the end of it. An era, a lifetime (to one of us at least).
And if fate allows our paths to cross once more, if the stars align and you end up in my arms once more, maybe then, we’ll annul the contract- see where things go.
Until then, one last time. And that’s that.
