The man who was not my man.
On that time I almost lost a fight with temptation.
Two journal entries two days apart:
Day 1
“I’m pretty certain this ‘love’ isn’t worth constantly feeling alone. It isn’t worth never knowing if now is an okay time to go in for an embrace or a kiss from my man. It’s not worth feeling insecure and unable to enjoy sex because he won’t look at me, at my body. The body he’s too unattracted to to have enjoyable sex with. He doesn’t hold me or kiss me, just gets it over fast enough so I no longer bother him for it. This love isn’t worth constantly feeling like I’m asking for too much from the man who claims to love me. Why didn’t I follow my first mind before we even got to this point? To this apartment we share. Maybe I just don’t want to start over if I’m being honest.”
Day 2
“About last night.. It was the first time in a long time that I truly felt desired. I feel slightly guilty that I don’t feel guilty about it. I needed it. Being in a relationship with a man who I don’t feel desired by takes a toll on one’s self-esteem and every now and then it’s good to be reminded that I have the mother fucking juice. But I didn’t entertain it or let it go further than it should but I’d be lying if I didn’t say it felt good.”
I can’t remember his name, and I probably would not be able to choose him in a lineup. But, on days when I’m fighting to figure out how to love the excess meat on my curves, I often think about the man who was not my man. Not just him, but I think of his comment, or, compliment rather.. occasionally even allowing a smirk to appear on my face.