Confessions

Where were you when I needed you? All I asked for was understanding and compassion. It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about fucking. I valued you as a woman, not body parts for selfish sexual satisfaction. I truly tried in every beautiful way to convey my emotions. Still, I apologize for my own errors. Still, my heart sends you loving whispers. With every intimate moment I reached to caress your essence. With every kiss I wanted you to know that I loved you with everything within me. So many years are spent in unhappiness in the unforgiving purgatory of pretense. So much fucking time is wasted with trivial and bullshit arguments. One thing that I can say about myself is, I always gave you room to vent. At risk of looking weak I would shed tears and tell you that I didn’t want to leave. You once were my reprieve. You were the life that I breathed. In my anxiety, sometimes I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to be the man that you needed. I wanted to bring the comfort of security, love and financial stability. I wanted a transcendent intimacy. I wanted you to evoke strong emotions of affection when you looked at me. I wanted you to be exceedingly joyous and happy. Perhaps you are happiest without me. Perhaps I am a romantic fool steeped in some ridiculous love fantasy. Perhaps I should beseech the ghost of Norma Jean and converse with her deeply about life, love and tragedy. The winters are so cold; baby, they are so cold. Fall is already here, and another desolate winter is near. I see you through my tears — baby, I swear that I still see you through my tears. 

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