All I wanna do is drive home to you
I can count the number of times I've been in love on just one hand - but it's still double the number most would expect.
Numero uno was fleeting, naive, but nevertheless, it was love. It was love for at least a few short months, and then perhaps it became fear. Conditioned to feel as though I was nothing without it.
Love number two actually happened during my long stay with the one I loved for a moment. If only my brain could remember whoever that was.
Salut toi. We lay on the grass.. "When I'm with you I feel like I can say anything." He didn't open his eyes. Four years ago he contacted me again and called me his wife. I didn't get the reference. We promised we'd get married in 2022.
The third was the love of my life. I fear I'll wake up 50 years from now with a lump in my throat still when I think of him. I also fear I'll throw everything away to be with him, only to find it's impossible. Do I wanna know?
Mais bon. Then it was the Frenchman. I certainly didn't love him. But he feels worth warranting. He was romantic. He made me feel desired. Worthy. Never dirty. Introduced me to his family. Then told me to cancel our plans.
And you. Yes you. I never loved you. But my gosh, the pull. The pull you had on me. The pull you still have on me. And you know it. You knew it.
Crawling back to you. You pulling me in close to you. I almost straddled you in falling. The first time I felt tenderness. Everything else before had been sexual. The only moment when I thought perhaps you really meant it when you said you loved me.
I imagined an entire universe where I took up your offer. Where I moved to you. Where I pursued a totally different career path. Where we - perhaps - got married. What else would we have done if I'd come?
I believe you. That's the terrible part. I believe you. And I believe her too. I know nothing's black and white. Nothing is cut and dry.
But I know we would have been terrible for each other. Fade out.
Numero uno was fleeting, naive, but nevertheless, it was love. It was love for at least a few short months, and then perhaps it became fear. Conditioned to feel as though I was nothing without it.
Love number two actually happened during my long stay with the one I loved for a moment. If only my brain could remember whoever that was.
Salut toi. We lay on the grass.. "When I'm with you I feel like I can say anything." He didn't open his eyes. Four years ago he contacted me again and called me his wife. I didn't get the reference. We promised we'd get married in 2022.
The third was the love of my life. I fear I'll wake up 50 years from now with a lump in my throat still when I think of him. I also fear I'll throw everything away to be with him, only to find it's impossible. Do I wanna know?
Mais bon. Then it was the Frenchman. I certainly didn't love him. But he feels worth warranting. He was romantic. He made me feel desired. Worthy. Never dirty. Introduced me to his family. Then told me to cancel our plans.
And you. Yes you. I never loved you. But my gosh, the pull. The pull you had on me. The pull you still have on me. And you know it. You knew it.
Crawling back to you. You pulling me in close to you. I almost straddled you in falling. The first time I felt tenderness. Everything else before had been sexual. The only moment when I thought perhaps you really meant it when you said you loved me.
I imagined an entire universe where I took up your offer. Where I moved to you. Where I pursued a totally different career path. Where we - perhaps - got married. What else would we have done if I'd come?
I believe you. That's the terrible part. I believe you. And I believe her too. I know nothing's black and white. Nothing is cut and dry.
But I know we would have been terrible for each other. Fade out.
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