volcanoes melt me down

you spend the entire evening, convincing yourself you don't want to be with him. you go to clubs, to bars, to friends places. nothing distracts you enough. you give in and go to his place. walk into his room; he looks adorable, sleeping. you wake him up and put on the cd you bought for him. damien rice's voice floods the room; he sings "i can't take my eyes off of you" and you avoid looking at him. you don't want him to think you're getting romantic here.

you spend the next two hours talking...you can't even remember about what, anymore. perfection. he said there was no such thing or that it was unattainable. you had disagreed. you said that we all experienced moments which were perfect. where nothing was lacking. and THAT was perfection. no one had said that it was meant to be eternal or everlasting. but it was there, nonetheless.

you talk about masks - we all wear one. you wonder what lies underneath, what is the real YOU or him? he says that we're a collection of our masks. underneath lies only our soul, perhaps. you wonder why we have so much faith in our judgments, what makes us think that the mask chosen for a certain occasion is the one that would work best. what if your own mask of the cold, unemotional bitch was the wrong one to wear. what if you took it off? or replaced it with another one? would it work just as well? would it be better or worse?

you fall off to sleep...each time you open your eyes, he's looking at you and he kisses you and tells you that you're beautiful. you smile sleepily...and feel like asking him whether he agreed that this was perfection? you hold that thought back and drift off to sleep. it's safer.

rejection

you spend two hours doing nothing but kissing and caressing each other. you are overwhelmed by an absolutely irrational sense of jealousy at anyone else who has been touched like this by him. you wonder whether he is as gentle with every girl or may be you're special. you can already sense that this will be the best sex you've had. and you're right. you lie together like strangers right after, searching for things to talk about, because the cuddling doesn't come naturally to either of you. he tells you about how he likes the fact that you're anti-cuddling and prolonged intercourse. you smile to yourself as you realize that your hard bitch act has worked fairly well.

the next day, you see him with another girl. you see them dancing and talking. you pretend that you're having a lot of fun and are oblivious to their presence. you see them leave together and are consumed by a desire to follow them. you go out to your car, and pass his - they're sitting together in it, chatting. your world crashes. you know you don't love him or even like him, particularly. but you did share something special the night before, and his ability to forget that confounds you. are all men like this? there is no commitment yet there should be a sense of respect for someone you sleep with. perhaps you're terribly old fashioned. perhaps you expect too much. perhaps you give too little and want more in return. perhaps you shouldn't play the unemotional bitch anymore; does he not know that you would feel jealousy and rejection, if nothing else? is it okay to feel this hurt, when it's just sex? do you even want more than that? do you even want to give him that respect and commitment in return?

you spend the rest of the night talking to someone else. pretending to be busy. playing games. you're so tired of this bullshit, this constant act, this desire to let no one close. you're so tired of the hurt. you wish you didn't feel. you want to rid yourself of all emotions, cleanse yourself of that which makes you ache all over.

you return to your bed, alone, tonight. you wonder whether he is alone. you wonder whether he's thinking about you, if he is.

sex without love

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

sex without love by sharon olds

pizza?

you wait for him outside his house. he's late. you know he'll show up, apologize profusely, smile that cute smile and stick his lower lip out in an attempt to get you to forgive him. but you know he doesn't mean it. he doesn't really care. you're supposed to meet for a fuck. oh sorry, the euphemism for that is a pizza and a movie. but really, there wont be either. you're still at too early a stage to lose the pretense. you are almost tired of playing the hard bitch. the one that he thinks is such a challenge and can't wait to get inside. inside your body, inside your head and inside your heart. he wants to break down all the doors, break you down. and then leave. isn't that how the story goes? everyone wants to get to "know" you. like "really" get to know you. and you figure that this time they really do mean it. and you let all those defenses down. you open the doors. and you let them in. it seems like a good idea. but it never is. you've done this over and over again. and this time, you're really, truly tired. tired of the games, the rush, the love, the fun, the newness of it all and then the inevitable monotony. the death of the relationship. the death of the love that was supposed to be everlasting.

this time, you're truly a hard bitch. you have vowed to never, ever let it happen again. you're sick of the break ups and the make ups. this time, you will just be like everyone else. cold. removed. tough. strong. you may be quaking inside. you may be scared. you may be at the precipice but you will not fall. you will not go over that edge this time. for you know that you wont be able to climb out of that abyss again. you know that you're too tired to save yourself if you fall and you know no one else will.

so you tell yourself over and over again: 'be strong'.

and you WILL be strong.