I’ve
totally lost myself in a man. Again. Not with a man, which would entail
a symbiotic dynamic; not to a man meaning complete submission to his
powers—the ones he would in this case willingly have over me. No. I have lost
myself in a man. Meaning I have confusedly surrendered my whole being in
this chasm of ‘him’ regardless of his knowledge or desire. It is lonely here.
And cold. He has no idea I’m here. He has no idea about any of it.
Today,
he’s a 35 year-old guitarist. While his age may be atypical of my usual
conquests, his craft is not. But maybe, just maybe this boy who makes me
laugh—the first to do so in so long—isn’t real. Maybe it was just sex. Maybe he
never thinks about me, I’m scared of the pain that will inevitably be a result
of his presence in my life. Where do I go?