He asked me to send him a picture of what was in my fridge and told me to tell him about the last time I’d gone grocery shopping. He sent me photos of his lunches, and favorite meals. His view on walks, and videos of the pets around him. He asked me to weigh in on the layout of a potential apartment, by sending me a video of it, then praising me when my suggestions were thoughtful. 

She talked about taking me on family vacations and sent me reminders throughout the day that she was thinking of me. She smiled so big every time the screens would show us each other. She told me how well I’d get along with her brothers and Dad. She shared about the grief she had for her mother and her mother's pets that she ushered into the afterworld. She messaged me on walks, and running errands, she wore shirts she knew I liked and she commented how she wanted to steal my hoodie just because it were mine. She told me my previous idols would have liked me, as she knew them in real life.

He told me he never talked to anyone the way he talked with me. He promised me with his actions that things would be different that time. Truth telling to a level beyond immaturity. He waxed poetry about how he wanted to drink from my lips, and bask in my presence... specifically in his life.

She only held me close in private because I wasn't openly bisexual. She sent me lust filled scathing looks across the bar, and made sure to push me against the wall just right when we were alone. I was enthralled and terrified. I still remember getting to take pictures of her that one time and having all her attention completely on me, behind the lens.

He and I met in a city I had only been in a handful of times, I traced the stab wound scar on his back after only hours of meeting. Shared his bed as we diced out immature lies and truths, only to be friends years down the line... after some misunderstanding.

I nursed my heartbreak of the best man I knew when I was 21 with one of the worst I knew at 23. I managed to call my own bluff and get hurt all the same time. Character development, I told myself. But how many times can you seek the gaze of your lover and see a mask. Carelessness, as I made myself vulnerable to it all.

I want devotion, because I can give it. I want someone on their knees showing me the parts of themselves they don't even know. I want the goodness and trust to do the same. I've spent years trying to figure out what went wrong, halfheartedly telling myself it was timing.

A part of me thinks I stopped daring to dream, wish, manifest and take up room with what I want. Romancing my imagination with words. I stopped writing about the love. I stopped giving myself the room, and instead leaned towards a bit of chaos to distract from the past hurt.

That hurt. A constant companion who makes you wary.

I loved myself fully these last few years. Gave her as much as I could possibly muster, not realizing that there is a bit more and it's missing it's mark. I suppose it's time to steady myself and practice my aim.