Listen, I know you’re not going to understand this, but ladykillin is tough business. I know, I know—it’s always about me, I’m such a fucking asshole—I get it, I really do. Truth be told, you are better off without me. But how would you feel if you didn’t have a choice; if there were no option?

            That’s the sort of predicament I’m in, you see. You are free to walk out of my life whenever you please, you are free to go on without me. I don’t have that luxury. I have to spend each and every day, in and out, with me. I must live with the things I’ve done. Time only moves forward. Sadly, this is what I’ve become.

            There are things I long for with women. For starters: smiles, laughs, attractions, companionship; memories, arguments, joys, love; the building of something greater than ourselves; something sturdy, worn, timeless; something which transcends time and space; something drenched in alexithymia, hyper-saturated in it even; a wish, a spell, a dream; a past, a present, a future; a truth, a lie, an in-between; someone to read books with (good ones only) and watch X-Files and Twilight Zone alongside of late at night; someone to drink with and write poetry and prose and whatever else we please; someone to travel with, adventure, explore the vastness inside of us as well as out. Yes, these are the things I long for. But there are things I desire as well.

            Beginning with: the thrill of initial contact, the excitement of the question, the pleasure of not knowing someone and not realizing how awful and human they are after all; the diversity of personality, talents, hobbies; the preferences of music, fashion, tastebuds; the cohesive chemistry, or lack thereof, causing us to bond covalently or explode outrageously; the looks, the lust, the lack of liability; the scent, the soul, the surprises. Yes, these are the things I desire.

            Maybe time less spent keeps things fresh, maybe things stay new, maybe we don’t get comfortable with each other. That’s when things are at their best, that’s when we are at our peak! From there it’s nowhere to go but down! It’s the rudimentary rush we seek—not complacency nor devotion!

            I’d like to meet a girl, kiss her, then say it’s over—because we’ll never be able to do better than that! (Thanks be to Robert McLiam Wilson for that one.)

            Sex is cheap, I couldn’t give a fuck less (no pun intended). What I seek is friendship, what I seek is more, what I seek is forever… but it’s hard to convince anyone of that, especially myself, when I know I’m pulling her pants off for all the reasons except the right ones. If the magic’s gone, it’s gone. I’ll take full responsibility. But I have a secret for you. You know what?

(idontthinkitis)

            For the record: I’m jealous of anyone who gets to talk to you, see your smile, smell your skin, be within a hundred feet of you, or receive your attention—no matter how short, no matter how small or trivial. You are a Georgia peach, sweet as lemon pie! You are a complicated little creature, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe someday I’ll want to settle down, but that day is not today. Until then: polygamy is the life for me. Either that, or growing writhen into a miserable, lonely old man—except I won’t be miserable or lonely. I can’t believe I even had you in the first place. I can’t believe I buttered you up and won you over. I can’t believe you ever gave me the time of day. For that, I am eternally grateful. I can look back on my accomplishments with pride—only the trophies are in my head rather than on a shelf. 

            I want them all. 

            I tried to hold myself at bay. I tried to do all things right. I did, too, but I did them at all the wrong times, with all the wrong intentions. I know this is a violent, vulgar word—diseased and despised—however, I am filled with (what can only be described as) love for you. 

            I’ve become a sinister, soul-snatching monster. An uncouth, cunning creep. A horrible, handsome human being. I’ve built them up to destroy them. I’ve given them a glimpse of light in their pitch-black lives then I’ve taken it away. I’ve spoken of romance with a heart of coal. I took your heart and ate it. 

            What can I say? 

            Better you than me.