letters

I kept me

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

I lost my gender in white lies. That’s the hardest thing about who I am and what you are to me. I write with anger and gratefulness as you read my words nearby. I have been afraid you will address the affection I project onto us, that I might lose you. I will bind my tears to it, with gratefulness, open to thinking love is unknowable.

I need to be interpreted in our relationship. I remember that aspect of each letter, where the other person takes all of my heart. The times I was going through sacrifice were when I felt your most desperate moments. I could receive your presence through my own difficulties and become more thoughtful each time.

Your presence, your touch that I wanted. Everything you are. But my attraction plays outside of your perspective, predictable as non-attachment and antagonism.

What about you in this conversation? I leave so much unexplained and just try to figure out whether it can be said. I do it in action, but not giving anything through my body. I want to lead and feel your desire as if we are normal human beings.

I knew myself in you and I kept me.

I’m fine

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

I’m fine but I couldn’t follow you, especially when I feel worthless. That twists your concerns. You say it wasn’t possible. I hate the part of you that thinks I could hurt. I want to disappear. But it grows when moments trap us into anger. I let my empathy hurt you? I am motivated by it? You just took the part of me that was happy and cut a hole in it. Call me if you find yourself in the reality where I am. We can laugh about all the things that are getting to our hearts.

The things I distrust are made more explicit. You don’t see me into submission, but I do. I lost the chance to bring the monsters into our inauthentic interactions. Its terrifying. You were talking about sex, so I wasn’t listening. I will hold you. But he will find you at ease and bring the kill.

I’m motivated by our friendship; when it’s cut off it’s the most important. I am motivated by ideas when I can associate all of their meanings beforehand. Its the why of it all; why you think I’m drawn to cause harm.

You said its about projection. In the subtle ways I shut you out. I enliven the muck that motivates you to cross me out. That part is not unusual for myself when I’m alone. Intuitively I won’t speak my desire; blame me if I can’t know my desire. My approach can be provocative.

I understand I have your conditional support and I’d rather pack it up and shut down. I have this funny thing. I lose trust. I feel strongly that you think you’re worthless. That you will softly project my fear of how fragile we are, what I want with you, and how trapped I am in assumptions.

Sometimes our feelings are intertwined and that’s when we are at risk of conflict. I become invested in each millimeter between us. I don’t want you. It’s not possible. It’s generative.

I blame you for being magnetic. It’s intensely physical and will take some time. Its too much and I couldn’t express my sense of it, of synchronicity and expansive love. That’s what I…just don’t call me out. Direct conversation cuts too close to my other layers. It’s not intentional that I open myself to that.

I’m ok. I can work with you.

notes on an experiment

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

It’s not a controlled experiment, mixed up as it is with coffee, alcohol and the onset of a cold. I am compelled to write in the dark with the bright screen of the tablet fueling the insomnia. My thoughts race faster than my heart. I’ll try to subdue my feelings by restraining them with words.

Chocolate is longing disguised as a promise of satisfaction. I once had a lover who ate only chocolate and drank only wine. Passion was just hunger. I never thought to look at the experience, only to analyze the causes. She rejected me. I protect myself by feeling nothing.

I agreed to your experiment out of curiosity. Wait. More honestly, I agreed because I want you to understand me. Sometimes I think you do, but your reflective gaze makes it hard to see. What I would give to watch your eyes soften. I’m drawn to the sharp edges of impossibility. Chocolate is like any of my addictions; a test to push and risk falling, cut and face blood.

Sleep is impossible. There are scuff marks on your leather boots. I want to remember exactly the words you used to describe your perseverance while breaking them in. Your hands express so much. Meanness has a satisfying sting. Tenderness is bliss. I dream of you and awaken to resist letting go. There your arm lays across my chest, heavy with sleep. I feel your watch tick. I want. I resist wanting. Chocolate has no effect on me at all.