Cynical and Southern: Removing the straight boy from my life

I felt this strong desire to crash my head onto his chest and fall apart. I felt this nearly overbearing call to show someone just how weak I really am.  I am needy and uncertain and goddamnit I wanted to shatter all over his sturdy silent torso. I know the feeling of protection only in theory. I wanted to test that theory via his lanky and bruised arms. I was falling in love. I was really annoyed by this ridiculous romanticism.

I stapled myself to my side of the bed. He is heterosexual. No matter how many rides I gave him or dinners I bought him I would never feel those lips recharging my rusted and tired battery.

And so tonight I run in the other direction. Here I am breaking all ties. It would be impossible for me not to run if he called. I smirk as I think of him and his Whoppers from Burger King, the ones I paid for every time.

I have never prevented myself from being taken advantage of before. This silence scares the fuck out of me.  I will dream of his arms tonight, but I will wake with a full wallet and a full tank of gas tomorrow morning.

He may have had the most gorgeous lips I’ve ever seen. They were moist and bright red. His skin was pasty white and soft. He was a phantom off a movie poster. He was celluloid and cellophane. And he was the cutest boy I’d seen in years. Tropical heat has never been a match for my internalized ice.

There was that moment when I woke next to him in my bed. I felt like I was standing at the top of a ocean cliff and with one swift move I could easily dive in. The magnetism of his arms felt so strong and powerful I had to consciously make an effort to stop myself. I laid glued to my side of the bed. As strong and as gruff as I appear to be, this nagging vulnerability was wrapping its claws around my neck.

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