My mother would say, “K, life isn’t fair. That’s how it is.”
I understand that.
But it really isn’t fair that you get to hold my hand, or stroke my hair, or kiss my neck, or feel my arm wrapped around your body... or look so sweetly, so softly into my blue eyes. It really isn’t fair that you get to do those very special things, that you get to have those very special moments, because you don’t deserve them. You don’t deserve me. And I’m not talking about sex. Just sex is not special. Anyone can have sex with enough confidence or alcohol.
Where and how does one draw the line? Shouldn't only special lasting relationships deserve such intimacy? Why should such intimate moments, such special moments, be shared if there is no love?
And as I think about this, I add another brick layer on my wall. A few guys down the road, my wall will be erect, and enforced so well that it will require a man to wrangle me in and tell me that he cares. And I still won’t believe him. I’ll still kick and scream and do bad things to him. And he'll repeat over and over again until he's blue in the face that I'm special to him. That these special moments that he attempts to create, the special touches that I will flinch at, that I will refuse - will leave him frustrated and unloved.
And I fear that this wall will shield me from true happiness. From discovering a man that is so beautiful, inside and out; that respects and cherishes me beyond anything I could ever imagine; that pales in comparison to any man I’ve ever met.
Someone special. So until then, no more special moments.
