I want to be unrecognizable. I love how a relationship (I’ll just leave that right there for all of you to define how you like) can just completely drop like a bomb and leave everything scattered. I love that feeling of when we’ve gone our separate ways and realizing that suddenly I’m not the same person you were stepping into it. Anyone I’ve been intimate with in any way has left an imprint on me. I’ve been branded metaphorically with so many marks of who’s been here.
And I can reflect back and see exactly who’s done what. He made me like this. She made me get over this. They taught me this and that. Every time I open myself up, it seems those I’ve opened myself to take the opportunity to, if I may steal DYC’s perfect metaphor, rearrange the furniture to an arrangement that suits me better than that before.
I just love that strange feeling of wandering around right after a storm. You can smell the rain and the air’s still electric. And everything just feels a little different. There’s this kind of freshness in the fallen branches and the leaves stuck to the windows of cars. It’s how I feel right now, entering this new phase of my life. He literally changed around so many things within me for the better. He was absolutely the thing I needed. And he’s put his mark on me just like everyone else, his certainly being one of the most prominent.
I once read somewhere that if forest fires didn’t happen, the entire forest would just die from all the underbrush clinging to it. I don’t want to say that I was being stifled or anything. But, I do want to say that if I don’t let go, I’m bound to just wind up hurting myself.
I’m trying to look at this whole thing from the positive spin of the fact that he and I really helped each other and changed each others’ lives. And, while sometimes it hurts to say that, for now, the buck stops here, it puts a little spring in my step to know that I am beginning an incredibly new phase of my life whilst changed so profoundly by him.
Sorry for being so cheesy. I promise, the regularly scheduled smut will resume momentarily.
I’m going to smudge the lines of your self-portrait. I want to make the colors melt and bleed. I’ll climb in your head and rearrange the furniture. No one will recognize you when we’re done.
vrbw: