It was the way you said it.
It was that you said it at all.
It was something you didn't say.
It was the way you didn't say it.
It was the way you walked away.
It was that in the moment after a slow, spine-tingling build, you let me drop, naked and covered in my own sweat and newfound shame for letting you have me without having all of me (even the bad bits, the misfits, the misplaced and misused good intentions).
It was in the moments that you sweet talked me into glorious submission, my mind set only on the thing in front of us because it was passion, it was rage, it was closeness, understanding, warmth. It was warmth.
It was the thought of being in someone's arms whose arms were in mine.
It was being in the moment and forgetting about all the moments that come after this.
It was the way we fought, quarreled like Street Fighters. You, Dhalsim, with the ability to stretch out your arms and push me away with a hard blow, and me, Blanka, with the ability to use my rage to hurt anyone who gets too close to hurt me.
It was the way that despite our bitter and unexpected fighting, I wanted to get close and want still to be closer.
It's my inability to have just a taste and not eat the whole dish. I want your entire dish, even if it's a bit meatier than I'm accustomed to.
If I have any fault in my pursuit, it is not that I don't own my faults or that I can't account for them; it is that I want more from people than I know with what to do.
My defense to being hurt is to hurt. Even if I don't understand the fight, my dukes go up in a plea of self-preservation.
I don't want to hurt or be hurt anymore.
I'm tired from this battle.
The worst part is: nobody won.
It's the way that I don't know what to do next.
It's the way I'm drunk on your words, the promise of your touch, the warmth of your body and mine burning together in my bed.
It's the way that I never know if you'll be kind or aloof when we speak.
It's the way that you keep me at a distance that makes me want to run distances.
What does it take to break down the barriers?
What does it take to not only make amends, but to make them strong?
How do you strengthen what's been badly wounded? Can you? Can we? I want to, please.
I want you.
It's the way that I hate you, and the way that I don't. Not at all. Even when I do, it doesn't feel like I expect it to.
How can I make amends strongly with you?
I'm sorry. ❤️
Come back inside.
Kiss me on the head and it'll all be alright.
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