Box

This place is filled with the ex-lovers of the ones I love, sorry pasts and hungry liasons, night-shadowed wishes for intimacy. I just want to be here to be alone tonight. I want to stand on the side and remember another time. Like honey it was, with each song flowing into the other. A time when I was so much sadder but so much more passionate.

I still want more, but now my lifeblood has drained into quiet acceptance of the things that need to be performed, the grudging duties that may ultimately destroy me. As I watch this panoply of sad masturbators, I know that I yearn to be one of them because I yearn for the recognition that will validate my choice, that will reassure me that being this channel means I have chosen wisely. But I know that I haven't and I know that I am too old for all this. Defeat and sorrow, but not complete resignation. I don't want to sell you my product, unlike the rest of America. I just want to leave you these gifts in peace. This is what I do and it is inseparable from itself. This is not about love or betterment, or even need. It simply is. I am what I am, said the God I used to believe in. You will be what you will be, but it can be changed. I am not defined by "wife" or "mother" wholly yet, maybe one day I will be. I really don't know what that is like and i never will unless I do it. But when I am this other thing, it is real too, and doesn't make me any less. And soon I will be these first things, and perhaps my time will be taken away from me.

When *did* this start moving so fast? Only know, that if you see everything changing inside and outside of me, as it is, as I ink more love and dreams onto my skin, that I feel the same way about you. Sometimes moreso. I am going away so that I can offer more of myself in the future.

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