Shattered Desires

The moment in which you realize you’ve won not the prize but the leftovers of his being. You’re not the priority, not the enjoyable hobby, not even the lustful pleasures in which he fantasizes about late into the night. You’re merely the scraps within his boredom. Nothing to do, no where to go… the original plans have cancelled and now in need of a seat filler kind of scraps. That moment when he returns from the bathroom after filling your temple with his toxic energies and poor nutritional substances, only to look at you for a moment, then walk away without a single thought of your vulnerabilities. You lye there in wait, anticipating what’s next. Breakfast in bed perhaps, time to spoon, maybe even that massage you’ve practically begged for.

After what appears a season in wait, you arise to attend to the desires of your lover only to find him as distant as his 1br condo would allow. In the furthest opposite corner of his apartment, fixated on the TV, merely scrolling through channels. Not engulfed in a series championship, or watching the insurrection on the Nations Capital; just sitting and scrolling. Doing anything but attending to you or your shattered and misguided desires. In that moment you realize you weren’t invited over to be the main course, not even the desert. Just merely the scraps of his appetite left unfulfilled. Now it witness of that very moment the scraps of his mind were fulfilled of you; you finally realize your place in his life. For in that moment he lost any and all interest in you; you were no longer seen, visible, cared for, or even thought of. Your mere presence was discarded as easily and quickly as those leftover scraps on his plate from the night before.

This moment reminded you of all the moments before, where he ignorantly, and very painfully demonstrated this agonizing truth of your being his scraps. Why had it taken 6 years to realize this biting truth. Thinking back on a multitude of occasions where he’d clearly revealed his intentions. Caught up in the haze of my damaged perception of love, I hadn’t I realized my overwhelming desire for his mere presence in my life had become more important than my own self-worth.

I recall the last conversation we had at the end of this tumultuous affair. He asked me with his devilish smile what was the problem, he didn’t understand why I’d had issue with his faint efforts. Surely I should be thankful for the scraps he’d left on his plate for me. While assuring him I was the problem, I noticed in his immediate expression; he’d taken joy in my ownership for the disfunction of our relationship. He wanted to know if I would prefer our just remain friends; he didn’t want to loose the friendship he assured me. I laughed wickedly to myself and then aloud. We’re not friends, I mumbled under my breath at first. He’d confidently asked me to repeat myself… So I took a long and purposeful deep breath, closed my eyes for a second and then looked at him firmly and restated aloud just as confidently as I had in my mind, “We are not friends.” “How could you say that,” he asked. “How can I not,” I assured him. “In six years, I’ve never met your family.” “You met my sister.” he said emphatically. “I dropped something off to your sisters house at your request while you were overseas. All she knew is you were having someone drop something off. We didn’t introduce ourselves, nor had you ever introduced us, so why on earth would you consider that me having met your sister?” “Well, you’ve met my kids, at least one of them,” he said while searching his mind for a rational justifications. I burst out laughing sarcastically to keep from crying. “I’ve never met any of your adult children.

Although there was this one time we stopped by your house and you mentioned your son was inside on a visit, but then asked me to wait there while you ran in to get your wallet. Perhaps that is the memory you have of me meeting one of your children.” He chuckled in thought… “Well, my mother then, you’ve met my mother at least once.” Thinking to myself, I must be talking to an even bigger fool than I. “Wow, if you mean I’ve met your mother because you’ve texted me from there on several occasions to tell me you’re right around the corner from me, to see if I were perhaps open to a Netflix and chill kind of evening; or the time you drove me by your moms house and through the neighborhood to show me where you’d grown up, then yes, I guess I have met your mother. But certainly, you can’t seriously think I’ve met anyone in your family since you’ve gone out of your way to keep your personal life away from me. You’ve even gone as far as to keep me from seeing pictures from special events, such as your daughters wedding; just something else I wasn’t invited to.”

For some narcissistic reason or another, he continued to deny the realities of what was. Only to even more twistedly infer just how happy I should be with the fact that I was lucky enough to have been to his sisters house, or driven by his moms house or most importantly in his home and in his bed. Scraps! I screamed sadly on the inside. He went on to close his thoughts by wickedly assuring me that I really shouldn’t be upset because he gives anyone he deals with the same amount of scraps. “You must think I treat the other women I deal with any differently than you.” He says this with confidence and a smile to add further insult. He assured me, I wasn’t being treated any less than any one of his female friends with benefits and in fact, he had never taken those women to Maldives and gifted them with $20,000 as he had I for my birthday, so I truly should have considered myself the luckiest of them all. Of course he added the little footnote, that while he couldn’t promise he hadn’t taken them somewhere, he emphatically assured me, it wasn’t Maldives and he’d never gifted any one money for a shopping spree as he had me.

He smiled this huge devilish grin as it appeared he thought to himself, surely she will see these scraps as a sign of my genuine preferred “like” for her. It was in this moment I thought of my little black book I gave up for this donkey. Filled with the kind of men that wouldn’t dare waist a trip to Maldives on mere lustful scraps. The kind of men that would have taken advantage of the allure and used the beach, the beautiful resort and the amenities as a perfect opportunity to propose, especially as we watch the sun set while on the sunset cruise we took for dinner during our last night on the island. As he continued to rambled on, I continued to fantasize momentarily about a time where I had such high esteem for myself.

Trying desperately to think of the moment in which I lost myself in this cloudy fog of clear and utter despair. Why else would I tolerate scraps from anyone, especially a man that hasn’t even as much as proclaimed me as his own in 6 years. Surely, this isn’t love. Could I even truly love him with the lowest level of esteem that I clearly had for oneself. He laughs again at whatever banter he continued to entertain himself with, and I am immediately jarred back into reality. Looking into and beyond his beautiful outward appearance, deep into the damaged grown male that is he with pity and grace. I take in the very essence of he; from the glory of his being to the truth of his disfunction. I assuredly say to him with an overwhelming since of peace and confidence. “I’m done!

I want more, I deserve more, and you have made it painfully clear, I’ll never get an ounce of what I desire hanging on to the scraps of you that I am even forced to share; so yes, I’m done. I would ask that you not reach out to me. Don’t text me, call me, email me or stop by. Don’t call my work phone or show up on my job; don’t drive by my house. In fact, I ask that you don’t even think of me beyond today. If you care for me the way you’ve professed, than I ask that you honor my wishes and simply let me go.”

I embrace him fully; arms wrapped tightly around his large frame as I tearfully inhale for the very last time his signature scent that is only defined by him. After a day long 60 seconds I release him, smile as warmly as my heart would allow while fighting back the tears, and walk away without the slightest temptation to turn around. As I make my way back to my vehicle, I release my final tears for him, breathing in deeply, followed immediately by slow, steady and strategic breaths needed to release all of the hopes, dreams, disappointments, fantasies and desires I’d held onto for 6 years. Letting him go in the physical was not enough; my spirit called for a cleansing like no other. Immediately, I felt a great sense of peace and calm over my spirit. It was done! He was now my past and I was no longer his scraps. It was in that moment I knew I was ready for the beauty that the next chapter of my life would undoubtedly unveil.

Now, time to find that little black book.