Falling Out Of Love

And, then, there he is, and I feel nothing. Which is strange, because I feel like I’ve been robbed. When once the mere sight of him sent flutters through my stomach and a smile on my face. But, now, there he is. And I can see him, and all I can do is look away. Which I think is slightly unfair – the fact that the mere thought of him does nothing for me. Being in love and crushing desire are my favorite sensations. I eat them like peaches, cold lust running down my face. But now there is no more of that when he walks in a room, and I feel empty.

I would much prefer to walk in this room and feel all aflutter again. I would like to feel those clouds under my feet. I would like to feel nervous instead of indifferent, because nervousness implies the anticipation of something greater and better to come. My indifference is indicative of the fact that this little tryst has run its course. All possibilities have been exhausted, and all those possibilities were exhausting dead ends

I used to love him, but now I feel nothing, although I am slightly mad at him for ruining that for me. Why did he have to do that. Why did he have to open his mouth and say the things he said and not say the things he was supposed to say in order to make it so I could still be in love with him? Why did he do the things he did instead of doing the things that would have brought us closer? I can feel him pawing at me from half way across the room, and there’s nothing more infuriating than this. I know that he still loves me, and I know that he still wants me, but there is no way that I could possibly feel the same way about him. He has ruined my unstoppable lust for him by being himself, which is awful because if he had just taken the time to be anybody other than himself, than maybe this would have worked out.

That old feeling is gone. For me at least, but I wish that in some way the wool were still over my eyes and I could blindly want him, too. I’m usually so good at that. I’m so good at wanting to fuck people in a carnal, visceral way. I’m so good at lust. I’m so good at temptation. Which is why I’m so confused: the high level of awful that a person has to be in order for me to not want to fuck them, even when the sex is so good – it’s pretty fucking high. If I like fucking someone, that person has to do a pretty large amount of whack ass bull shit in order for me to realize, “Hey, the sex is good, but this guy is just…repulsive as a human being.” I takes a lot of that. Which is why I’m so pissed off that I’m not in love with him and I don’t want to fuck him because my tolerance for petty bull shit and mind games is really high, but now.

Now I walk into rooms and barely notice that he’s there.