Sick

Re: How is Taylor Sirard?

I write this with a sniffly nose, in between sips of herbal tea. The past couple of days I've been in a haze: not asleep, but not fully awake. I don't quite trust the mush of my brain to edit new content in this state, so I figured I would dive into my writing vault for this week's post.

WARNING: What follows is an R-rated post. Those who wish to perceive me through a mask of innocence [grandmother's, parents, priests, elementary school teachers, old babysitters, etc...] should not read further. There will be a PG post next week for you to enjoy. I take no responsibility for any disturbance experienced by those who do continue. This is your final warning. Turn back now. Save yourselves. 

Is there an easier way to make that warning? Probably. Anyways, on with it. What follows is the product of my musings on the idea of true love. I used to believe in the idea of a "one true love:" That there was one person meant for me, and I was the one person meant for them, and our life mission was to find each other and live happily ever after. I respect those who hold that belief, but for me, that's not true. To clarify, and assure you I am not completely apathetic, I believe in love. I believe that we have agency in love and that it is ever expanding, not restricted to one person. But more on polyamory in a later post.

So with this belief, it surprises me how much I enjoy acting out love tropes. Maybe there is a part of me that still believes in true love. Maybe romance and love are entirely separate and can operate independently. What I'm most surprised at is how I look back on certain events and think that they were evidence of love. Even further, that the relationship meant more, should have ended differently, or lasted longer. Of course, there is the logical side of my brain that knows those events are irrelevant for a working relationship.

So, I made a list of these events in no particular order...

Things That I Have Done After I Stopped Believing in True Love:

[Image: A wedding bouquet lays in the corner of a
cement structure. The ground is dirty and covered
in small pieces of litter.]

I laid in bed with him after he drove to visit me for the first time. We had been there talking for hours. He pulled my face close to his, "Wait, just a little bit longer," I said. He was surprised, maybe confused. "We have the rest of our lives to kiss, but we'll never have this moment again. I want to remember how it feels right now. This tension an anticipation. This moment before our first kiss."

I wrote a song to remember how being with you was like playing as a child.

I believed the promises you made to me for my birthday present.

You were in my kitchen trying to cut your hand. A blood brother ritual. I ignored everyone else at the party to find you a sharper knife. When you were both finished, I took your palm in my hands to see the cut. I locked eyes with you and licked the blood.

I wrote a song about how I wanted you both.

I wrote a song about how we want what we can't have. About how that was each other then.

We had sex in my car the morning after the foursome. I pulled off the road and parked on state land. My way of claiming something I knew wasn't mine.

I told you I would marry you. I meant it.

We rolled around on your bed for hours. You relentlessly expressed your feelings for me, until I stopped rolling my eyes and they narrowed. "That's the first time you've trusted me," you interpreted. You were right. We made plans for vacations together. You asked me to stay longer, said you would buy a new plane ticket. You told me all of the reasons you loved me that had nothing to do with the way I look. You said we should wait to do anything but kiss, "We have time." We made a promise to solve all of our problems just as we were: In our underwear, my legs wrapped around your waist, totally under the canopy of a bedsheet.

I believed him when he said, "Good luck trying to find someone who loves you for who you are." We made up, and I stayed the night.

You asked me to sing you a song and I did.

I lit candles around a hot bath. I added drops of lavender and eucalyptus oil as he rolled a joint. He put on Beach House. I poured us a glass of wine. I curled myself between his legs as I lowered into the water. "Take Care" played as he massaged my back.

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