Love-sick Stalker
Someone I know used to abuse the ill-gotten knowledge that I was totally (and, in hindsight, inexplicably) head-over-heels infatuated with him. He did this for months.
I've never felt smaller, younger, more exposed than I did when I was in the same room as him, trying not to breathe for fear of giving myself away -- though I came to the realization that he, in fact, already knew my secret. He ended up milking the situation -- not for all it was worth -- but enough to make me feel like a total fool. It was like he could strip me bare with just a word or a look. Every time. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.
That's when it started to turn. He wasn't trying to, but he gave me a reason to fall out of love. And, since then, all his little ploys for attention and admiration seem pathetic and cheap.
Too little too late.
It's funny because he'll never understand how I felt. It used to hurt so much. It used to be torture. To be near him and not be able to be WITH him was the most exquisite pain I had ever experienced. For such a long time, I thrived on being on the wrong end of unrequited love. I tried to move on by staying far away from him but, in the end, I'd always punish myself by showing up at the places where I knew he'd be. And I would beat myself up about it because, not only had I been reduced to a love-sick stalker, but the object of my stalkerish ways was covertly mocking me and, less than covertly, rejecting my sorry ass.
The pain is gone now.
His tactlessness, his lack of maturity and kindness ... they killed the feelings I once had for him. But now he senses the difference. He senses that I'm over him and now he's trying to find ways to push me back under.
He touches me too much now, makes inferences and then takes them back. I can see him testing the waters, wondering if he can stir up those old feelings.
I wonder if he can sense just how disgusted I am by it. Does he see that I wipe off the kiss on my cheek?
Funny how he kissed no one else.
You had your chance, man. I'm wise enough not to worship you anymore. Fuck the hell off.
I've never felt smaller, younger, more exposed than I did when I was in the same room as him, trying not to breathe for fear of giving myself away -- though I came to the realization that he, in fact, already knew my secret. He ended up milking the situation -- not for all it was worth -- but enough to make me feel like a total fool. It was like he could strip me bare with just a word or a look. Every time. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.
That's when it started to turn. He wasn't trying to, but he gave me a reason to fall out of love. And, since then, all his little ploys for attention and admiration seem pathetic and cheap.
Too little too late.
It's funny because he'll never understand how I felt. It used to hurt so much. It used to be torture. To be near him and not be able to be WITH him was the most exquisite pain I had ever experienced. For such a long time, I thrived on being on the wrong end of unrequited love. I tried to move on by staying far away from him but, in the end, I'd always punish myself by showing up at the places where I knew he'd be. And I would beat myself up about it because, not only had I been reduced to a love-sick stalker, but the object of my stalkerish ways was covertly mocking me and, less than covertly, rejecting my sorry ass.
The pain is gone now.
His tactlessness, his lack of maturity and kindness ... they killed the feelings I once had for him. But now he senses the difference. He senses that I'm over him and now he's trying to find ways to push me back under.
He touches me too much now, makes inferences and then takes them back. I can see him testing the waters, wondering if he can stir up those old feelings.
I wonder if he can sense just how disgusted I am by it. Does he see that I wipe off the kiss on my cheek?
Funny how he kissed no one else.
You had your chance, man. I'm wise enough not to worship you anymore. Fuck the hell off.
This entry was posted
on September 24, 2007 at 1:23 AM.
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