The Desperate Desire.

Put on some lipstick in the bathroom and pop a mint in your mouth before sitting back down at the table and saying, “Thanks for dinner!” and then cut to the bar to ditch him for going home and saying no to everything right now. Aspire to moderation, but really it’s just slowly coming to the realization that this overwhelming sensation of being unloveable and unwanted and unattractive has slowly consumed every interaction for the last month and a half. 

It used to not be like this, and it used to be fuck every person, but nowadays it’s awkward kick it sessions in the far reaches of the friend zone, and lying in bed with platonic male friends, and fielding the usual text messages that read, “Come over right now!” To which the usual response used to be, “15” but now it’s nothing and not fucking and no more hook ups.

You were rejected once, weren’t you? Is this what it’s all about? The self pity and the sorry for yourself parties and the moderate drinking and the veritable celibacy and the lack of human interaction and human contact. It’s a self defeating cycle filled with no attraction to anybody ever and this pinching sensation of loneliness that makes everything seem dull, so why spend time at the bar, why spend time with friends, why even go out, but for the freshness of feeling rejected. It’s a long hurt, it’s a chronic pain, it’s not easily medicated and takes a long time heal. It’s knowing that there’s somebody out there that you used to love that doesn’t want anything to do with you whatsoever, and the constant urge to text sappy, obnoxious things is so unbearably overwhelming right now, but they would elicit no response, and they would make nothing better, and it would only hurt more. So it’s time to cut back on drinking, because if you’re not drunk then you won’t drunk text, but the flip side of that is if you’re not drunk then how are you going to have random drunken hook ups with strangers in bars, which is what you used to do, and now you feel like a fallen giant with your tail tucked between your legs, but only if it weren’t a tail, but a penis instead, a big one that belonged to a beautiful boy…but that’s not happening tonight, because here you are, not even drunk, but alone, and in bed, and not fucking all the writhing, sweaty, hungry boys out there who are just waiting…

But that’s okay, because you know that they’re waiting, and by the time you’re done with this pity party, they’ll still be waiting, and you will take them. All in due time. Patience.