26.6.17 – 2:28 am
Women are clingy, Women don’t give you space, women are difficult, that’s what the men say. But the truth about it all, lies in the hands of men, as they grab onto your hand in a forced romantic way. They twist their way into your life, demand attention when you have none to spare, they ask for things that you don’t offer and forgive you when you don’t give in. Men are sweet, they do romantic things, “You’re pretty, can I have your number” they look at you with alarm when your answer doesn’t fall in line with theirs. Some men seem to have an uncontrollable drive; they say they’ll wait until you’re ready yet they’ll remind you of all the time, the time they’ve wasted waiting. Every one of them who said they liked me, did it for some weird selfish goal of theirs, refusing to take no for an answer, refusing to let go even after I begged. It was easy for me to give up, every time I had a crush, so what made them so special, that attention they thought they deserved. Ask them for space and they’ll give you an arm’s length, then they’ll be back before you know it, expecting a ‘fair’ trade on terms they’d left unsaid.
Whenever you offer them a hand, hoping to make peace, they grab on higher and higher and higher, they grab on so you can’t force them to let go. Sometimes you manage to pull them off, agree to coexist separately, but every time you look up they’re watching, hoping to catch your eye, a friendly reminder that they stuck to the promise you asked them to keep. These are the good guys I hear, the good guys who really care, but what if they’re supposed to be good to someone else and my no isn’t a betrayal to the world of men. Late one night as i stay up dreaming, I feel my phone buzz, a text, a casual reminder of things that no longer are, a forceful reminder of the times that we shared. ‘Can you keep another secret?’ He asks, another secret I don’t want to hear. Think about it he says, reminding me of thinks id sworn I never wanted to live through again.
“We’re still friend right?” Another asks, hovering, watching, always around. Accepting momentary acknowledgements he waits, guilt flushing my veins as I scramble to make up for not falling in line with his wants. He, they, offer me a little escape, opening up and erasing the lines and suddenly I’m back sinking, the no I said now just treated as another lie. Maybe the problem is mine, I can’t appreciate a gentleman’s smile, maybe I’m failing as a woman, just dreaming too big of a hero in disguise. Maybe I’m the one who isn’t trying enough, incapable of appreciating what is in front of me. Maybe I’m the problem, yeah just maybe, but then again I wouldn’t give up freedom for their reality.
You know what they say though, just maybe we were meant to be, and someday we’ll fit each other like a hook to an eye. A match like no other, an open eye no longer needing light.