The best times of our lives

What exactly is closure?

Closure is supposed to be the end of some sort of feelings, some form of final denial that says "now I'm alright again", is it not? Why is denying something or someone so hard? Of course, because feelings are involved. Fuck feelings. I know I've posted so many about how being a robot would be so great, but never before have I had this distaste towards feelings and emotions and all the shitty consequences that come with having them. Who knew that Black Rose, a pretender of the highest ice-cold caliber, would have such a hard time forgetting something and someone, when all she has ever done all her life is forget?

Having the worst short-term memory since God invented Alzheimer's had made me think myself stronger and more immune to the effects of those quick, intimate moments. But just because I can forget what i had for lunch the previous day apparently doesn't mean I could just as easily forget about it. About him. About what happened in the fleeting moments between two bodies on a twin bed in a darkly-lit downstairs apartment. And most importantly, about how much that hour meant to me. It's not as if I'd loved him all my life, or even ever. (After all, I still don't understand "love"... though I feel as if I'm getting closer to understanding). I hadn't even considered him as someone "worthy" (as one might say) until I had emotionally and hormonally gone through some of the other men that live in my close proximity.

But he was... gentle. Sweet. Kind. And he indulged my stupid whims, even though he wasn't that type of man at all. And maybe his slight lead ons made me want him more, but who questions the little things? I didn't know that it'd be me who'd regret such a thing. Black Rose with regrets? It's almost an oxymoron.

Who thought that I could tear my own motto "the end justifies the means" into a billion little pieces, pieces of thoughts and tears and imaginary happiness? Not I.
Who thought that crossing him off as a conquest would make me more vulnerable than he? Not I.

I, stupid stupid me, thought that since nothing could ever come of us, that I had nothing to lose. He would be off on the other side of the world and I would be in my own little corner of Virginia, so we were safe. He was a half-hippie and outdoorsy, and I was all-glittery-lifestyle and comfort, so I wouldn't find him so appealing. It was supposed to be safe.

But goddammit, it was playing with fire. I should've known... my emotions haven't exactly been stable, my intimacy issues had yet to be checked, and I still went for it. I went for it after I cockblocked myself, after a mutual friend told me not to break his heart, after he seemed not to want it anymore. I went for it with all the reckless abandon I had, thinking there'd be no consequences. And I got what I wanted.

At least, I got what I thought was what I wanted. I got his body, I got to check him off my list. But it was all so empty. After all of that, he still maintained distance. Perhaps it was his last indulgence to me, one last reprieve before he finally realized how much danger we were in, but it was the worst decision I could've made. It seemed right at the time... me seducing this serious, long-term kind of guy, as a booster of sorts. God I am a selfish bitch. It's only right that I get bitten in the ass by the consequences of my own actions.

Maybe to him, it was a new experiment, to test out the "casual hookup" waters. Maybe it really was something completely random, and I was just a guinea pig. And all the more power to him, since you should try everything once. But dammit, did it have to occur now, when my emotions suddenly decided to be worn on my sleeve? It shocked me to my core, that I felt so much sadness and anger after his polite decline of being friends with benefits. It shouldn't have affected me so much, seeing as how I'd had more attractive, more aggressive, more charming men. But... it was beautiful. Coming from a fairly emotionally frigid household, his tenderness touched me more than any body could have. It wasn't the great sex or the great seduction that made it the best I've ever had. It was just... him.

Most disgusting, is that I thought/wished/hoped that I was special. That I could be "the one" (whether that means the "one" random hookup he'll ever have, or "the one" that is magical). But apparently, I wasn't, and that's what hit me the hardest. I fell in tenderlove, and he probably just... well, fell in me, perhaps unwillingly. But he seemed to enjoy himself. And I'm glad he did. But curse my stupid stupid developed feelings. And so much for turning a serious one to the dark side. Apparently the force was stronger with that one than it was with me. And now I'm questioning what I want, and who I want.

Truly disgusting.

The best times of my life, I thought, would be lots of casual sex with lots of attractive, beautiful, charming men. It turned out, that not only was the best time of my life the exact opposite (some form of emotion-related tender sex with one average, not so attractive man), the best time also became the worst time. Is this what it means to actually experience real emotions for someone? I hope it isn't. I really hope not. (But knowing my luck, it probably is.)

I'm not a "true love" kind of girl. At least, I thought I wasn't. But fuck it all if I'm not finding that "marriage with kids in a white picket fence" more appealing than the last time I checked.

God I miss him.