All of you, all the time, and every weekend. Oh, how I have adored you. Every single saga, starting each Saturday night with that first sip of beer, and ending some days later as I stagger out with much less dignity intact, and such sticky kisses on my lips. And the hope that you never text me again.
You are beautiful, all of you. For everything you have done for me, and to me, and with me. I hold each of you in such high esteem, from the first moment I laid eyes on you, to the last time I could bear to look at your face without any sense of disgust in the pit of my stomach. When I first knew I loved you (love, of course, and adoration, only being euphemisms for that animal force that makes me want to fuck you), and when I first knew I hated you, and when I first realized that hating you wasn’t worth the time and energy so I should just stop giving a fuck and try to forget your name. How you have made life so much faster, and so much drunker, and so much in-between-legs-achingly good.
And the drugs I have done, and the nights I have spent up stomping down street corner to street corner. And you have taken me, as I am, high on coke, or heroin, or ecstacy, or mushrooms, or black out sloppy vomit drunk – you didn’t care because you were no better. Even though I have only known you for fifteen minutes, or maybe fifteen years, but it doesn’t matter, it’s still the same line, “I wanted you since the first time I saw you.”
Of course, but you shouldn’t do drugs. Because when we’re sexing you can’t get it up, and while this 45 minute blow job might seem amazing to you right now, I’m still ready to roll over and call it a night until you wake me up in 2 hours and get the job done. It’s an epidemic. You and all your friends, too.
But then we fucked, it was glorious, I mean, yeah, I can’t really remember, and, yeah, you were too high on coke so you couldn’t get it up, but it was everything I wanted right in that moment. To be desired. By you. To be wanted, to be a woman, to be up until 6am and nauseous with regret the next day.
Even against my own better judgment, and we balled and it was glorious. In soft beds, in dark hallways, behind schools and on park benches, on churches, under freeways (well maybe not, I think I just tried). And every way imaginable, I will take it how you give it and I will love it. Because that’s what I’m here for, even though my friends hate you, even though my friends are in love with you, even though my friends are in the next room giggling while voraciously I am screaming. Even though this is my friend’s bed, and he will walk in tomorrow morning while we are both still naked and drunk and he will scream and we will fear death.
And we are so right now, and we are so the next day, and I am so kicked out at 4pm with cum in my hair and so close to vomiting. But I will still call my mother with a smile on my face and wish her Happy Mother’s Day.
But I want you to know – the first time I was in love was the last time. This is always just the slap happy clapping of thighs on thighs, and drunk, and friends, and shamed stories circulating around the various social circles we inhabit. You are my forever for right now, and soon I will be on my way seeking a better forever, a hotter and more intelligent one. You are my everything this second, but I am a nihilist and I believe in nothing, so shattered illusion, there you go. Except that I don’t mean that, what I mean to say is the last time was the first time, and the best time, and it was you. I loved you, with so much of my heart, and I wanted you. I am just afraid, and I want you to save me from these demons of mine.
But that won’t happen, because I’ll love you today and by tomorrow I’ll hate you. For not calling, for not texting, for not friending me on Facebook. But I’ll get over it, don’t worry, and by the next time I see you at some party or another I will have already started trying to forget your name. Because, yes, it would be nice to be friends in five years, and lie in bed and listen to Grouper and be good about our demons, but that is only something for the pure of heart and you are not pure at heart. You are a beast, like me, chasing flesh, always.
You golden boys, you, each and every one of you, with all of your flaws and all the reasons I shouldn’t want you but I can’t help myself. You see, one day I will be happy. Less the aimless fuckery of a meandering twenty something, undersexed always and low self esteem. One day I will find one who wants to marry me, wife me up, put me up in a white castle and take me into the sunset. That day is not today.
Until then, I love you all. Oh so very much.
And I hate you all, too.
And I will see you at parties, next weekend I’m sure, and I’ll smile, and we’ll chat in clipped sentences. And then we’ll turn our backs and walk away, and on to the next one, I’m sure, my darling.