At this rate…that is…(what a f***ing title is this actually!)

I cannot stop thinking about you. I know this is the line of an highschool girl, and not the love letter of a man, but that’s how I feel about you.

After so much time since we last met, the image of you begins to fade, but I still remember your taste, the touch of your hands, the depth of your eyes.

I am not writing you to give you compliments. I am writing you to set myself free from this obsession. I am not in love, that’s what I like to think, I am just charmed from the memories of pleasure and from the little gap of unknown that comes from the fact we have always remained strangers to each other.

You think I am an old maniac and I think you are a wild young man, and I have had proof we match, in bed at least.

You finally answered to my message, just to tell me you’ll let me know when you are free, eventually. a little “x” and the fact you answered at night to make me hope that even if we are not meant to be together in life, we’ll burn together again.

I would like to know what you are thinking. The fact I am old, and the fact I am a man, as you are, doesn’t mean that I cannot be interested in having a piece of your mind. Let me know what you think, I beg you. I am nothing but amusement for you…good, let it be, but then I’ll know where I am standing.

I need to know if you feel something, that won’t change my behaviour towards you, but it will set up myself towards myself.

There are two parts of me fighting each other, a dreamer which is consuming in his own memories of happiness,  an old ass-hole who knows that love is just a big bag where we throw all the feeling we cannot give a label too and that pheromones are often worse than poison.

Do you think I am a bitch? I am. I am a bitch sold to passion, because I cannot bear the thought that relationships are made to fall into giving each other for granted and to share a cold bed, just to end up old, unable to move, full of shit, hoping to be the first one to fall not to need to take care of the other.

I know too many people who stay together because it’s convenient or not to hurt their family, or because they have children they can’t stand to leave behind. In the name of love we kill our personalities, we accept goddamned compromises and we live a life we do not own.

I have run away from this, hurting the ones I thought I loved, hurting myself to the edge of endurance. And still I look for love. That love which is the only thing I’ve been hurt by in my entire life.

This is not a trick to pull you into my bed.  Do I want to have sex with you? You got to be kidding me. God only knows how much I want you, but the point of this is do I want to be moaning in the arms of someone considering me shallow? Am I ready to be the sperm receiving ass for a person judging me not worthy? I don’t know.

I cannot know the answer until I don’t know what you think. I cannot know my feeling until I don’t hear you say  “Boris, you are a bitch I just want to fuck you and if you would be any other asshole in the world it would not make any difference for me”. When I have to confront with this, I’ll understand.

I just need you to kill me and raise from my ashes, eventually.

My mobile phone is on. I keep it on my night table, just in case.

x

Boris.

PS: at this rate…that is…