Dear Moon,
Wondrous creature and early morning stargazer I plead with you for eternity to hang your hat on the coatrack inside my heart and forget where you put it when you try to leave. Please, I plead, don’t ever leave. I could spend eternity in darkness if I knew that you were still there somewhere, I could breathe carbon dioxide if it would allow me more hours to spend with you. For one hour with you is too much and one hundred is never enough, once I’ve had you in my sights my eyes lose their shine in the sun and his lips no longer kiss my skin but burn it crimson.
I used to love summer, you know. Before your elegance tainted my affections, I would stand in the sand and soak in the rays of the sun like oxygen, watch the bees buzz with the wind and wonder why I couldn’t live in that moment forever. Every day since I’ve met you I thank the wind of the cosmos that brought us together, say thank you so that every day I have a night to look forward to. Now that I’ve known the way it feels to stand under your light and breathe in the scintillating view of the stars far above me I don’t think I could ever go back. Now that I know, winter is my favorite season. Longer nights and shorter days, counting down the seconds until I can stare into the skies with you by my side. On the days when I’m blessed with snowfall I revel in the sight of your pale complexion accompanying me wherever I am to go.
God, I miss you. I remember warm summer nights when I spent fleeting moments with you before my eyelids fell like the shooting stars I love so dearly. I remember brisk fall nights watching the clouds worship your gravity and imagining the bare tree branches as skeleton bones reaching out to hold me in a way only they could. Imagining their thin bones through the cloth of my jacket, grasping my wrist and asking me not to leave them alone. I remember the night I first met you. I was so naive. Running into the woods like a frightened animal, tripping over tree roots and my own feet, tears pouring down my face like rain. I remember the way the cold, damp grass pressed against my thin shirt and tickled the back of my neck when I breathed. But most of all, I remember you. I remember the second my eyes strained to see on a galactic level your bruises and scars. I remember thinking to myself that I would be satisfied to spend the rest of my finite life exploring your surface. You ruined me. I didn’t think I would ever be so happy to be destroyed from the inside out. Thank you.
Sincerely, your secret admirer.
What I wanted..and what I want..
I will write about childhood desires, right now as an adult I am little bit of a cynic. I never wanted anyone to die around me. I have faced severe existential crisis in life.
When I heard that my mother had cancer, then I became quite gloomy. My father died of a heart disease, I was too numb to feel anything.
I just wanted disease-free world,
no cancer,diabetes.....
There were times, when despite talent I could not perform due to fear.
I wanted fearless life,
no worries and anxieties.
I needed to give clarifications for everything. I hated it.
I wanted people to undertand me,
without me to explain them in detail.
People smile but, they also pass hurtful sarcasm. I think they might not be happy at heart.
I wanted happy people,
innocence dripping from their eyes.
You love someone, but your love is never reciprocated.
I wanted no emotional abuse,
where close ones not use you.
I have always seen my parents argue, we used to hide when that happened.
I wanted peace and silence,
not arguments and quarrels.
Now as an adult,
I want no financial worries,
I want to sleep deep.
I want no accidents or tragedies.
I want my numbness to disappear.
I want good weather all year around.
-GD
Pending
Her stupid little passionate soul was registered as 100% interested in all the human interactions laid on the table for her.
It’s dangerous and pathetic for her counterparts to see, that she’s 100% in.
But Marva was often in this 100% range. Excitement poured out of her, with the prospect of men and love. She felt love towards anyone who made her feel even an ounce of that boilly, burning love-stricken dopamine.
Realistically, she had doubts and a million negative things to say about the inducers of her dopamine. She could write novels and poems about the depths of their shortcomings and flaws. The dissatisfaction and angst, the whole damn thing was not nearly enough to make her whole and satisfied.
Pending. The men she was after that night were both very much pending, with neither of these gentlemen really allowing themselves to care all that much about whether they were graced with the presence of Marva. Eventually no one would care either way. Their machines had made the whole act of hanging out with Marva sound as though it could happen no matter what, it was hardly a win. Hardly a “reward.”
In fact, a hang out with Marva was registered as “positive points” for them mentally, in their psychological settings. So good for their minds, that it was almost listed as a “task,” something they should do in order to better themselves.
It appealed to them, but the thought of hanging out with Marva certainly didn’t creep back into their minds like addictions and “rewards” usually do. Their minds knew the machine would present to them, Marva, if the time was right..
But for Marva in that moment, she was damn floofy and conceivably in need of a “good time,” easily swayed into the laps of lust, in need of a “reward,” and the ranked highest dopamine reward for Marva was, well, a man. Any man who struck her fancy in that particular department of neurons.
One of the men was by the name of Shioz. He had broken up with her 6 days ago. She had worked hard as hell not to think about Shioz the last 6 days.
And now here he was, back in her life, announcing all sorts of statements that made her look at the world differently. Statements that had her re-evaluating human dynamics with fresh and skeptical, epiphanic eyes. And she fucking loved that. She was addicted to that. She was addicted to any male or act on the planet that did this to her.
The detailed, detailed description of Marva and Shioz’s relationship is this: that she might be, mentally, the closest thing to understanding him, and entertaining him. “Powerful” stuff they had. But who was it really powerful for? It was powerful to her, merely because Shioz was someone who loved her. Someone who felt fire and poured out all kinds of passions into her.
She questioned where this all came from, since his machine indicated he only understood about 13% of who she was. But Marva didn’t care, she would throw 100% into a lover like Shiov, regardless of her questions. She couldn’t stop herself.
The other pending gentleman is a Mr. Adit Randolph. A country club prep boy who doesn’t mind being as ruthless and petty as they come. He’s a real drama queen, and viciously unscathed by anything that is said or done. Statistically, Adit’s presence and purpose on this earth didn’t appeal much to Marva. But there was a strange combustion of molecules in the air when they had been physically near one another. And anyways, she had big plans to use the motherfucker for some coping sex. Or some attention and distraction, the basics.
Marva and her machine knew which gentleman the girl would prefer to hang out with that evening. But the chances of her Shioz actually coming through were much lower, something like a 42% compared with Adit’s 97%.
But Marva wanted what she wanted, hence the tweaking, teetering of her ionic soul that constantly kept energy bustling around.
She couldn’t send both of them 100%s, because that’s mechanically not how things work.
But if she did commit to Adit, she would look cool as fuck to her Shioz.
Of course, she would risk not being able to see Shioz.
Marva’s dilemma was such a typical case, she thought.
Plus, her real heart would be measured by her machine anyways.
If she were to hang out with Adit, her machine would know she was doing it just to impress Shioz.
But eventually it wouldn’t be just to impress Shioz. She’d hang out with him, and she’d find herself enjoying it. She’d start to feel into his presence in front of her, happy with the decision. She loves enjoying the shit out of whatever is in front of her. She has the ability to love the shit out of anything, really. Maybe it’s for the sake of having the world see that she is enjoying herself.
But it’s actually more than that, her machine calculates. Her ability to love the shit out of anything comes from a special kind of a relief—the relief comes to Marva because she doesn’t have to decide.
So she would sit here for the appropriate time frame, when Shioz said he would call and make the decisions as to whether he could hang out – his 42% likelihood of hanging out, barely leaning up or down much as the hours pass.
She had guestimated around the time that she would hear from him. Her machine refused to confirm her guesses.
Marva started to realized that she didn’t really care or want either of these motherfuckers. She wanted Adit to come, just because. it was considered fun. It would liven her up to entertain his ass, and maybe his hands would end up on her. She always wanted that.
She came close to contacting Adit, with the intention that if Shioz did come through, she could easily just become a total crazy ass and trick both of them into hanging out. All three at once. She marveled at this idea.
But, oh. there was also the risk of losing Adit as a fuck buddy for the months to come. She needed that shit, and if she did the whole “blowing off” thing, he might be out of the running. He might not be her fuck buddy.
The facts and realistic outlook on it all, is very real. you can say you’re running into love and choosing the choice that seems “less plausible,” “more exciting,” and “more scary.” but what you’re really doing is not spending the time to think about the depths of what’s really inside of you.
It’s never yes or no. It’s never just the one. It only appears that way because there is physically just one of us, and physically just one minute located in front of the next.
She knows she will never be satisfied. And she’s done the satisfactory thing of locking up that exact piece of information, playing dumb and running around seeking satisfaction. Maybe somewhere her satisfied self did this, so that it would guarantee the woman is never satisfied.
She could invite both over, or neither. She could just go to bed—something her body wanted, but something her mind would never really allow when such pending excitements floated among her.
Why couldn’t she live on her own time frame and involve no one else?
Why was this deadline and time frame the only place her heart rate rose.
Why and how could she invite both of them in mentally, in ways she never had before. Yet she couldn’t admit her stupid little anxiety about who to hang out with
Waiting makes you into something, man.
Great advice, both of her lovers would say.
And a decision would be made.
could she jam it all in? Or could she
Should she play it cool and not answer to either of them?
Mentally drained she was. But she thought she needed fun before she could sleep. She always thought that before she could sleep.
And we’re not even using “fun” in a sexual way here.
It’s more like, anti-“what-you’re-supposed-to-do.” The calculated line-up of what the machine tells you is good or bad for you.
Bbased on which factors? You might ask. And it’s a complicated question. And one that an average Normie would not be able to get into much detail on.
Risks. And seeing tracers in her room. Marva was damn tired, but damned only ready to sleep once she had fallen into every risk.
She knew she was keeping Adit on pending, and sure, it was costing her, to leave him there. Wearing down her chances of having a reliable fuck buddy.
But I guess she could look at the positive and say it was also raking in points in the category that made her seem “cool and distant” and not giving a fuck.
Wow, she’s in this new place where these fuckers really aren’t all that appealing. She’s making decisions for her work and body tomorrow. She takes actions to get to sleep, schedule an exercise and early work tasks for the morning. She’s finally getting tired, planning and living and doing her own damn cycle without knowledge of their presence whatsoever.
But, alas! If they’re sitting over there in their worlds, and they’re tired too—she huffs and puffs some anxiety at this—that must mean that they don’t care. They don’t want it enough. They don’t stay awake at night the way she does. And just want it. Something.
She cares about her motherfucking mind the most. And sleep is calling.
What power to choose sleep over the fun.
Because of course Marva would never sleep, and she would never do that.
She would never be able to sleep, knowing that such important things were happening in the air around her.
Eventually it would all wear on her.
And she could be satisfied.
And what a wonderful zone to be in, when you just spin and spiral everywhere alone--never waiting up and pending.
And in the process, the one who loves you most, notices.
And you’re never satisfied. Because the first statement cannot exist if the second does.
And maybe life isn’t worth living if the second statement doesn’t exist…