…the good fight…

What are you supposed to do when you are more passionate about someone than you have ever been in your whole life and you want to fight for them… but they won’t even consider a conversation… how can your feelings be that strong when theirs clearly are not? Can you imagine chemistry?

I am perhaps guilty of having too positive an outlook on life and have been accused by a few of blokes of being all “rainbows and unicorns” – forgive me for saying “fuck you” to all of them because at least I am not a depressed alcoholic, drowning my sorrows every day and every night and hiding behind a put on smile, at least I am not so far up my own arse that I would ever judge another person for their job description, or level of income or sexual orientation, at least I am not so gutless that I wont even attempt to open the floodgates on my own history of shitty skeletons and try to sort them out on hope of finding happiness and being stable enough to accept it. At least I would never, ever abandon someone I truly loved in their most desperate time of need.

I have been brought up to fight. To fight for what is right and to fight when you find that person that makes you think and feel and open up spontaneously and have shared passions with; you fight for any little part of their life that they will let you be a part of and for the comfort of their arms and their love and their smells and their cranky little mannerisms; you fight for their apocalyptic larders and their paranoid under-car-checking and their awesomeness written about in real, published books. You fight for their knowledge and belief in all that is good and for their strength to surround you when you are afraid; you fight for their Dad jokes and for their beautiful family and for your own beautiful family. You fight because you know that if you DID fly off the back of their motorbike one day they would wait by you in the hospital until you woke up; and you fight for that chance to remind them that they CAN let go and that they DO deserve happiness and that you will help them get through their baggage and come into the clearing and be there for them always. You fight for the amazing sex, the insane intimacy and your mouth shaped in a silent “OH”; you fight for the moment between pain and pleasure when they hold back until you relax into it and you feel everything combine into one, the intensity almost too much to handle; you fight for the back scratches and bites and gripped arms and bruises and sore wrists and aching wanton sexual desire you have for them.

You fight for that moment to happen again where the words “I love you” were on the end of your tongue and you didn’t say them for fear that they would not be reciprocated. You fight.

You just fight. You just don’t give up on something like that.

…or at least I do, I would, I did… but they didn’t. So it’s their loss. They wont ever have that chance again.

I am not your second chance.


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