Whatever it is that makes me move through the world with a degree of confidence, my sassiness, my cheek, my arse, my mojo, well I lost it but only in relation to you. I know this because even at such a distance you have made me cry. I used to cry a lot when you were around.
My natural sexual longings have been with me for so long that I have grown used to them. I immerse myself in that liquid rush and I shrug and move on. With you there was always an edge of shame. I should not, I thought, or, I am wrong to. There was always some self-judgement that cut hard into my psyche. I lusted and I similtaneously hated myself for that lust. There was nothing clean about the feeling and I am still, even now, scrubbing myself free from it. You unleash that bitter anger at me yet again and I am suddenly in tears. I stumble. I become insecure. It is time to remove myself from the harm you can cause me. No amount of friendship can make up for how bad it can feel when I am scoured by self hate.
This new friendship is so much better. It is dogged by frequent moments of lust but it is easy to turn that into fuel for my creative pursuits. We are honest with it. There is a dialogue. He does not share in my little lustful fantasies but he is familiar with them and he returns the favour with his care and friendship. He is flattered. He does not use the situation to point out my failings. Instead he is kind and gentle with my emotional turmoil and in time it will settle. We are friends. He is a good choice of friend.
You however have removed my dignity, and although it was not entirely your fault, I think you enjoyed the power of stripping me back to bare bone. Each time I cried you became more powerful, each fall from grace was a buoying up of your ego. I am putting distance there now. I am guarding myself against that raw place. I am still surprised by my own tears and I would like to protect myself from more of the same.