I don't think I love like I'm supposed to love. Like people expect me to.
Belonging to a single person feels like a leash around my neck. A dry aching feeling in my throat.
Having someone rely on me for all of their needs. For all the love I can give.
For my shoulders to cry on. For my hands to hold and my lips to kiss.
Every part of my body and soul.
I cannot give you all that you need.
I feel bad for not being able to offer myself up on a fine China dish, let you devour me, pick my bones clean until there is nothing but a carcess left in my wake.
I feel bad that I cannot give everything I am to you.
I feel bad that you expect me to.
I have spent so long learning to be at peace with myself. To let myself be whole all on my own.
To not let people pick me apart and take all their favourite parts until there are no more favourite parts left and I am just an old medal that is left to collect dust in their trophy case.
An empty disc with nothing playing.
You want me to love you like it's the only thing I'm good for.
Like there is nothing else in the world but you.
And when my eyes wander, your eyes fill with tears because my every thought is not of you. My heart is not yours to hold and squeeze and poke and prod until all the blood drains out, and you are the only thing keeping it beating.
But I've done this before.
Eventually, your hand will tire. The beating rhythm starting to slow until I am dying in the palm of your hands, and you start yelling that I put myself here.
How, of course, your hand would tire.
You can't be the only thing that keeps me going.
You can't love me like it's the only thing you're good for.
...but that's where you wanted me, wasn't it?
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
No Ficciónas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am am someone who...
