Social Fantasy

It's been almost three years since I felt magnetized

towards you. Given the facts, I can only assume

you felt the same way.

I must confess, it's been a rather insightful

whatever-this-is. We don't even qualify as friends

and acquatances sound too vague. Either case,

this is what I got to say.

I can't say I like you, but I do feel sexually attracted

to the image I've made of you in my head. Not an

image of a dreamy guy thinking of a goddess, but

of a man in constant war seeing a place he can

call home. A place where he can rest his head after

a long day of battle, a place where he can drop

his guard just enough to recharge and keep going

the next day.

Where am I going with this? You might ask.

Simple. I can't shake the "what if" out of my mind.

I can't give myself fully to the woman in front of me,

to the naked woman who has dropped her only drop

of true power to be with a man who doesn't give himself

to her fully.

I can't connect with my gorgeous dates because I can't

turn off the stupid voice in my head that insists on being

patient. "She's just busy. She's got responsibilities. She's

independent. Wait, just wait, good things happen to those

who--" to hell with it! I don't want to spend another year

in limbo. I might've been patient while in Houston, while

setting my eyes on Europe, while going through the hell

of chemotherapy, while facing death yet again. It felt great

having your mental presence in those moments.

Your broken glasses, your cute nose, and gentle smile were

constant part of my visualizations. Great part of what kept

me going, great part of pulling myself away from death's grip

the times I felt I couldn't anymore. As silly and stupid as that

may sound, it worked. I'm alive.

I'm grateful, yet I find time too valuable to waste it in a fantasy.

"Remember the things that make a man: His mission and his

freedom. Set yourself free." The masculine side of me keeps

demanding. "Don't waste any more time. Find your true place.

If there's something you must quit, quit this. There's no other

way."

What do I mean? I mean this:

I want the images in my head, the images of me pinning you

down in bed, of me kissing you until you're left gasping for air,

of the symphony performed by our sweaty bodies colliding

with each other, of soul gazing as we immerse into each other,

of me penetrating your deepest being, of our essences transcending

the physical, the mental, the spiritual planes of being, those images that

haunt and torture me and those who seek my affection, those images,

I want them to stop. I can't do this anymore.

I can't go another year pretending to be nice, another year

being with others while not being with them. I can't waste

another second like this. I must move on. I'm certain you

don't need me, and neither do I, but as it is, I sure as hell

want you. For what I can see, you don't.

I must move on. Thank you for everything, Aztec Queen, as

silly as it may sound, the woman that sprung out of those

messages saved my life. If we find each other around as we

usually do, I'll kiss you like you've never been kissed before,

even if it costs me my life. Goodbye.