Under no circumstance do you ever admit failure. Failure not to obtain happiness but to feel happiness in your heart. The desire for happiness is there but you cannot feel it. The only you ever felt it was when you were in love with the man in question. Then you had to stop.
There is a PROFOUND SADNESS inside of me. When I realized that I would never be loved back the way I wanted to be loved back, I realized that I had failed. That gapping hole could not be patched. I knew because I was only in love once with another man like this in my early 20s, then when I shut him down I shut him down permanently and never looked back again. For years I could not feel much, every piece of emotion was just some random dots and you felt obligated to feel more but you couldn't.
When I saw him and started to talk to him, even just in a matter of hours I knew that we were linked somehow. He had thousands of photos of me, and he wanted more. He liked to collect photos. He liked to think we are from another decade, we met when we were kids. We reconnected when we were adults. We knew each other so intimately so perversely and we loved one another yet we were not together most of the time.
He's tired most of the time. Exhausted, with his children with his wok and sometimes with his friends. He wanted me to give him one thing and one thing only, sexual satisfaction. And now that I was more relaxed around him and demanded nothing in return, he was treating me like I was his confidant. He told me things. How he was annoyed by his mother, stressed out about her, how he was coparenting with his partner, that he respected her and there was a relationship, albeit not a romantic one. He liked to compare his relationship with her, the children's mother like my relationship with my husband. We both have a set of obligations. We both need to fulfill them.
He talked about his work, sometimes more dire than others, feast or famine. He talked about his business and how he was a majority shareholder of his company, essentially all of it was his. He worked hard, every morning waking up at 5 to work. And then when he was not working, he took his son to soccer, played with his younger man and signed up for different races with his older kid, who liked to run. He knew that I ran long distances, ultramarathons. He liked that about me.
We then talked about work. About what I did and things he did not know. I told him that I needed to hire a vendor to build training modules but I couldn't afford him. Our work world converged. He was interested in learning about HIPAA compliance. I told him what that was as he thrusted himself into me.
He liked to think about unusual things. He liked things that were unusual. He wished that he could fuck me when I was pregnant. I could no longer carry children. He liked me chubbier. He told me how beautiful I looked to him. When he fucked me he wanted to crush me. Like his entire weight was on me. He wanted to fill me with him. Like we were one.
He said that he had not heard from me. I told him that I had not heard from him either. Previously he'd go through a week without writing back to me. But now if he did not write back to me, I often stop writing back to him. A taste of his own medicine. I move on as if he did not exist. But I know that our body and soul were linked and he knew that I was waiting. So he would write and see if I could see him. I knew more about him. I knew that he felt bad that he was fucking others when he was on the road. He knew that it made me sad and thus it made him feel sad.
I did not tell him about my life, for it was not important in this context.
I often pondered if my chance to happiness is left and gone. My ideal life would have been with him. I knew how much I loved him. I knew how much I craved him. I knew this world would have made more sense if he and I were parents to two children, a boy and a girl. I knew he'd love them and gave them what he thought was to be the best for them. I knew that they would be beautiful.
But in this life, we have nothing. We each have our own children. We each were trapped in our own creation. We each loved each other. We each could not be together. I would never meet his friends. He would never meet mine. We only have each other. The secret would go to graves with us. And I was denied of happiness, and that's how my life shall be. I must go on. And pretend everything is okay. Find contentment and joy. Find other ways to live my life so that I could stop feeling sorry for myself.
When I saw him and started to talk to him, even just in a matter of hours I knew that we were linked somehow. He had thousands of photos of me, and he wanted more. He liked to collect photos. He liked to think we are from another decade, we met when we were kids. We reconnected when we were adults. We knew each other so intimately so perversely and we loved one another yet we were not together most of the time.
He's tired most of the time. Exhausted, with his children with his wok and sometimes with his friends. He wanted me to give him one thing and one thing only, sexual satisfaction. And now that I was more relaxed around him and demanded nothing in return, he was treating me like I was his confidant. He told me things. How he was annoyed by his mother, stressed out about her, how he was coparenting with his partner, that he respected her and there was a relationship, albeit not a romantic one. He liked to compare his relationship with her, the children's mother like my relationship with my husband. We both have a set of obligations. We both need to fulfill them.
He talked about his work, sometimes more dire than others, feast or famine. He talked about his business and how he was a majority shareholder of his company, essentially all of it was his. He worked hard, every morning waking up at 5 to work. And then when he was not working, he took his son to soccer, played with his younger man and signed up for different races with his older kid, who liked to run. He knew that I ran long distances, ultramarathons. He liked that about me.
We then talked about work. About what I did and things he did not know. I told him that I needed to hire a vendor to build training modules but I couldn't afford him. Our work world converged. He was interested in learning about HIPAA compliance. I told him what that was as he thrusted himself into me.
He liked to think about unusual things. He liked things that were unusual. He wished that he could fuck me when I was pregnant. I could no longer carry children. He liked me chubbier. He told me how beautiful I looked to him. When he fucked me he wanted to crush me. Like his entire weight was on me. He wanted to fill me with him. Like we were one.
He said that he had not heard from me. I told him that I had not heard from him either. Previously he'd go through a week without writing back to me. But now if he did not write back to me, I often stop writing back to him. A taste of his own medicine. I move on as if he did not exist. But I know that our body and soul were linked and he knew that I was waiting. So he would write and see if I could see him. I knew more about him. I knew that he felt bad that he was fucking others when he was on the road. He knew that it made me sad and thus it made him feel sad.
I did not tell him about my life, for it was not important in this context.
I often pondered if my chance to happiness is left and gone. My ideal life would have been with him. I knew how much I loved him. I knew how much I craved him. I knew this world would have made more sense if he and I were parents to two children, a boy and a girl. I knew he'd love them and gave them what he thought was to be the best for them. I knew that they would be beautiful.
But in this life, we have nothing. We each have our own children. We each were trapped in our own creation. We each loved each other. We each could not be together. I would never meet his friends. He would never meet mine. We only have each other. The secret would go to graves with us. And I was denied of happiness, and that's how my life shall be. I must go on. And pretend everything is okay. Find contentment and joy. Find other ways to live my life so that I could stop feeling sorry for myself.
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