I can see it in their eyes, their doubt. They change the subject. They pity me at best and are suspicious at worst. They want proof, and I can offer them none. Most don’t believe me but even the ones who do want me to dial back. They fear the disappointment will lead to my demise. And I remember now they taught me to be afraid. I pity them that they don’t even know what love can be. Our love. Both more special and more fucked up than most. For we are anything but ordinary.
And I wonder do you suffer the same or differently? Is this why you want what you want? Why it has to be the way it has to be? I don’t really care. Your motivation no longer concerns me. I just want inside.
I slip sometimes and beg them to believe me. To recognize how much you mean to me and how much I mean to you. They can’t do either. I don’t think it is won’t. I believe it is can’t. I do not blame them. On my best day, I can’t articulate fully how much you mean to me. It is unusual for me, and it drives me nuts. But how can I ask them to know what I cannot explain?