A Letter to the Narcissist – No. 9

Disappointed in your fury.  All the words in between your introduction right down to the end, all coming to a head in just your last sentence.

I overstand.  I really do.  I too am disappointed that through all this you weren’t able to allow for the truth of what was manifesting between us.  You claim to have done this before.  You claim that I am yet just another in your cycle, no different then the last.  Knowing ahead of time that you will end it for us yet again in having to hurt.  Me.  But you hurt yourself in the process too.  Never forget that. Only because you try so hard to resist.

Mirroring each other, yes we were.  I knew that from the second that I met you.  The whole package I was for you, you told me.  Male version of myself was my reply.  None of that a mirage.  None of that a construct.

Haven’t you always been told that you are different?  So have I.  Haven’t you always been told that you are a little weird?  So have I.  Haven’t you always been told that you are unique?  So have I.  Haven’t you noticed that the day to day mundane entanglements with regular mortals is just too infuriating to swallow?  So have I.

Until I met you.

Maybe I’m a dreamer.  Maybe I’m a witch as you say.  But I am a believer in love.  And yes, I do allow my vulnerabilities to glow.  I welcomed that delicious mind blowing feeling when you melted chest to chest with me, and I could feel your essence releasing itself.  The release of what you guarded so tightly inside.  I felt your pain.  I felt your angst.  I felt your desire.  I felt your struggle.  I felt your bewilderment at almost losing control.  I felt it all.  Was it my feelings I was feeling I had asked myself so many times?  Very overwhelming.  But I endured it, and I oh so wanted for it to happen again.  And it did.  Because I felt your love too.  Swallow.   Sometimes we didn’t even have to touch, and it still happened.  Too many times to deny it’s existence.

Scary shit.

Yes they were my feelings too.  And you drew them out of me.  Or maybe, I drew them out of you.

You want my mind, body and soul, fuck that!  You told me.

I am your mind, body, and soul.  Was my reply.

You can’t trust love.  Neither can I.

But with you I had thought that maybe I could learn to.

Keep writing.  Keep writing.
And I will too.

We are getting somewhere.

I think.

Yours,

Like. The Flu.