Work Text:
The nights are colder without you.
I knew it was a mistake to let myself be carried away by the warmth of his arms and the well-rehearsed sweetness of his words. Still, I gave you space to come in and mess everything up inside my chest. I allowed you to deceive me, and in doing so I deceived myself.
Maybe I'm damn selfish for wanting someone to love me unconditionally so much. My desperation leads me to sacrifice any minimum emotional stability for a little affection, attention and praise that is empty of sincerity. It's an act: I provide the stage and the script and you continue to play your role of pretending to love me so that I feel at least a little special for a few hours. Again and again.
Should I really beg for this―for love? It doesn't feel right, but it's not like I have a real chance with you. Its list of options is satisfactory enough that a "needy" like me is nothing more than a casual diversion to get you out of the boredom. It should be satisfactory for you, I think. I mean, seeing myself willing to pretend that I believe your words and gestures when we both clearly know that you would never choose me. You probably enjoy witnessing the turmoil it causes in me and my heart.
Is it pleasant to see me accept the crumbs you offer as if they were gold? Should I feel flattered that I have less than minimal consideration from you? Funny. Really comical.
The nights you stayed with me, I waited until you slept so I could imagine how things would be if you really loved me. For some reason I felt safer doing this with you asleep, like someone committing a crime in the dead of night while the adrenaline of danger runs through their veins. Delinquent.
I kept thinking about how it must feel to receive a really sincere hug, kiss and compliment, coming from the bottom of your heart – the purest source. I smiled, silly and in love with this fantasy, and fell asleep happily. The next morning you were no longer in bed when I woke up, and then reality returned to cover me in a suffocating way.
Asking you to leave was the same as assuming my last shred of dignity and self-love. Since then the nights are colder and the days are longer. It's impossible to say that I don't miss you - even if nothing was real. I laugh to myself when I think that my own tragic reality was nothing more than a fantasy too - as if my daydreams where I experience relentless love weren't enough.
The bed seems bigger and more uncomfortable than ever. Not even all my comforters on me at the same time can warm me like you did - your heat of icy blue flames. It has crossed my mind that perhaps I have gotten used to receiving less than the minimum and making it the maximum that I supposedly deserve. If that's true, then God, I'm so screwed.
You weren't the only one to blame, I know that. I need to apologize to myself, but I prefer to just think of it all as a completely unfortunate accident. It happens.
In a few months I'll be involved in the same game of acting, because that's how I live: from stage to stage, a tour with no end in sight. I know I'm slowly destroying myself, but maybe that's my only choice. Simply sitting around and waiting for true love seems totally out of the question in my case.
Thank you for your dedication on stage. It was pretty convincing, overall.