The Land of NeverWas

Where all the "Might Have Beens" live

Archive for the category “love relationships sex”

the insanity of cupid’s arrows

Is it cowardice to armor one’s heart against the barbed arrows of a Cupid gone mad? One who shoots his arrows without regard to consequence? Is it cowardice to wish to avoid the pain of his pernicious arrow sinking in to my heart alone? The arrow that he so maliciously forgot to also shoot into the one I fell in love with?

“Perhaps, it is. But I don’t care.” I think as I buckle the armor on and shut my beating heart away into the darkness once again.

shaking & shattering

I’m shaking.

I don’t know whether it is from the coffee on an empty stomach or the flurry of emotions that are swirling inside of me, bumping themselves along my nerves and up against my skin. I think it may be a combination of the two and I hope that the emotions aren’t able to find a crack in my facade and work themselves out. They are trying with everything they possess. I feel as if I have an earthquake dwelling within me and it is only a matter of time before I break from the constant shivering.

What started it? What was the butterfly effect? What seemingly innocent action somewhere else set into motion the little ripple that grew into this tsunami inside of me that threatens to drown me in ruin? I don’t know. It’s probable I don’t ever want to know. I wonder how he did it? What words did he use? What caught her eye about him? Did he make her laugh? Did he make her feel special? Did he make her feel sexy? What did he do that I never could? What was it about him that turned her on so much? What the fuck did he do or have that turned her away? What caused her to leave me here

shaking and shattering?


I am lightly dreamt and poorly written.

A ghost of memory spied upon the mirror.

The falling echo of a word unspoken.

All that I am is see-through and you walk within me unknowing.

perfect sin

lips meet and tongues dance. fingers trace. teeth bite. eyes close in rapturous abandon. shaking hands tear at clothing then find what lies beneath. breath catches at the first tingling feelings and then comes in gasps as sensation rushes all over. the scents intoxicate and lead to further abandon. sweat forms as two become one. bodies tangle and weave, rise and fall. all the while touching, ever touching. it seems as if no place can be left untouched. no skin left not kissed. and then in a final rush there is nothing left but a trembling mass of flesh and whispers.

it wasn’t love, but it was a perfect sin.

days like months, months like years

I keep picturing you with sad eyes. Sad eyes and a far away look. I have no idea if this is accurate as I am totally and completely cut off from you. I said I wouldn’t write this kind of thing anymore, but I was struck by the need to make a record of this moment. I have hope it will be a history of us, but if nothing else it will be a history of me. And I think looking back and remembering my feelings at this moment will be important to my future self. I just wonder if there will grow a disconnect between me now and me then. Like when I look at pictures of myself from my childhood and it feels almost as if I am looking at the life of someone else. Some other unhappily happy child who is trying to find balance between the magic he feels inside and the turmoil his reality has become. I hope not. I hope that the feelings remain. I hope that I can grasp your hand and smile at how foolish we were in this present. How we kept ourselves apart while everything else was waiting not so patiently for us to give in and accept the inevitable.

But for now, this now I am slogging through, there is nothing but an abundance of time that seems to be never ending. And this is the feeling I wanted to jot down. How the tick of the clock is both my enemy and my friend. How the rise and set of the sun is both my enemy and my friend. How I am marking days off the calendar like a prisoner awaiting the day he can walk free from his cell.

Yes. I needed to make a record of this.

So here is the record of the time that days felt like months, and months felt like years.


n: : temporary inaction especially as caused by uncertainty : hesitation

this is going to sting.


when you lay eyes on the one that catches first your eye and then your heart, it isn’t simply a matter of fate putting the two of you in that particular spot at that particular time. no, fate had much more work to do before it put you two lonely spirits in the same space. there was a brilliance to its plan. a patience. fate had to lay out a domino of events that is best never contemplated, for not only did it have to place you two together at the right moment, but it had to place your parents together and their parents and so on and so forth all the way back to the time your ancestors decided to take ship to new lands and even beyond that to a time when Targ fell in love with Unda. you two potential lovers have come from a long line of lovers that fate pushed together like two dolls and said “kiss her!”…and stuff. and to compound fate’s job even more, it had to put the two of you through other relationships just so you could learn lessons that needed to be learned so that you would be ready to recognize what fate was putting in front of you. you had to cry, you had to hurt, you had to destroy others so that they could learn lessons of their own. you had to be the bitch, you had to be the asshole, you had to be the victim, you had to have your heart ripped out of you. fate puts a lot of work into you and it isn’t happy when you ignore that fact. if you keep your mouth closed and let her slip by, if you let fear keep your heart closed and let him slip away, fate will fuck you up. when you are sitting there pondering why you were never able to find love, fate will smack you upside the head and say “you did you dumbfuck. you just passed it over out of fear. remember so-and-so? yeah. THAT ONE.” fear is fate’s worst enemy. fear laughs at fate’s work because fear has an easy job. it just gives us a twinge and we run. you can always tell the brave souls. they are the ones still holding wrinkly hands, the ones that still have the light in their eyes even as the rest of them is going to hell. it’s in the tender attention of the old man that is taking care of the wife that can’t remember him anymore, it’s in the patient, steady force of the old lady that has to take care of her husband as if he were a baby. because in the end, fate is happy with the ones that did get it. fate smiles at love and love smiles back because that is the one little slice of heaven on this planet that we are given. love. the love of others and the love from others. so remember that the next time you fall and fear starts tapping you on the shoulder. remember all the work fate has put into it. remember it is all just a beautiful convergence.

love and physics

now i want a compression of time.
the months until i see you feel far too long.
then the days between will feel far too long.
then the hours between will feel far too long.
then the minutes, then the seconds.
in the weird physics of love
the seconds and the minutes
and the hours with you will feel far too short
and the days with you will feel far too short
and the months with you will feel far too short
and then i will want a decompression of time

or better yet for time to stand still

damn the beautiful nights

Damn the beautiful nights.

Not that I hate beautiful nights. Sitting there in the dark while the cool breeze ruffles my hair and caresses my skin like a playful lover makes me really glad to be alive.

No, it’s not the beautiful nights I hate. It’s the fact that you aren’t there sharing them with me that makes them far less enjoyable. I’ve counted so many. So many lost opportunities to hold your hand and walk with you by my side. So many lost opportunities to lay on the grass and look at the stars. So many lost opportunities to sneak away with a blanket to the dark beneath a tree and make love and dare anyone to stop us. (And so what if we get caught? I’d go before the judge and say “You’re damn straight I was making love to her under the moonlight. And you better keep on the lookout, because I aim to do it again, Your Honor.”)

But, even so, I send my love off with the breeze and hope it finds its way to you. It’s not quite the same, but for now it will have to do.

Damn the beautiful nights.

first, last, and all points in between

You are the first and the last and all points in between.

The first thing I think of when I awaken in the morning. Even before I curse my alarm clock.

The last thing I think of at night before sleep claims me. Even after I think how good it feels to climb into bed.

When I wake at night unable to sleep because the cares of existence are wearing hard upon my soul, thoughts of you calm me.

You are in my dreams both day and night.

You live in the faraway look I get in my eyes and the stupid grin on my mouth.

You are too far but yet so near. You surround me and I move through you like the air.

You are the first and the last and all points in between.


I am dying to touch you.

I am dying to read your skin like a blind man, with the tips of my fingers sliding over your naked body, as they take in the story of you. The nudity isn’t about sex. It’s about doing away with all the barriers between you and I and getting even closer than sex allows as we merge souls together. My touch will be the conduit through which we speak. The vastness of my emotions for you will be narrowed down to a fine point and, as I trace and caress, I imagine there will be invisible words emblazoned upon you by the fire that burns so sweetly. The words will shine brightly there and then fade into your skin and race to your heart and then you can know, finally and at long last, what the man touching you is feeling. If your breath is taken away, that’s okay. You took my breath away long ago. It feels like I am still holding it and waiting.

Waiting for just this moment, when I can finally lay there with you and read you with my touch.


I build a straw shelter of confidence and hope and for a moment I feel strong, but then the realization that it will be, at minimum, two months before there is even a possibility that I will see you blows through me like a hurricane, destroying the frail structure I’ve built and leaving me trembling, cold and lonely.

the book

the book smelled of her. the scent of her perfume arose from it and intoxicated my mind until it formed an almost physical presence of her in the room. i could see her standing there next to me, watching me, watching my face as i studied her gift. her mouth was formed into a crooked half-smile as she studied me, as if completely confident that i would love it. and i did. at that point it didn’t even matter what the book was about, all that mattered was that it was from her. i stroked the cover as if it were her face.

i didn’t read it immediately. i flipped through the pages quickly and let them fan the scent of her perfume into my face. and then i dove in. the story was beautiful and painful and sweet and happy and sad and all the other things many stories are. but i was attached to this story in a way i hadn’t been before, not even with my own writing, because i was trying to see it through two pairs of eyes: hers and mine. but even the author’s words didn’t grip me the way her notations did. they were short, cryptic to me, but i knew for her they had pages of meaning. i wanted so badly to unravel that meaning, but, unlike the book i held in my hands, i couldn’t crack them open to get to the inner content, i could only stare at the hard outer covering.

i closed the book and held it up to my face to take in the scent one more time. and as i did i fell in love with her a little bit more.


time can seem to crawl no more slowly than when you want to hear from someone. a second can seem like a decade. a minute a century. an hour; eternity. days passing by is a time frame too terrible to bear. every tick and every tock of the clock echoes inside of you like an earthquake shaking you to your very core. nothing could speed up time again like a word from your lover. but silence reigns and time still oozes on. uncertainty keeping you constant companion. you know there will be a breaking point at which the time stream will return to its normal pace, but it feels like you will never get there. it is like swimming toward a surface too far away and your lungs are beginning to burst for want of air. if only you could break through that surface and take in a lungful of her and never have to plunge back down into the watery depths of her absence ever again. but that is then. for now you must make your way breathlessly through the murk. that dark hole she has left. that abyss.


in the dark
i see a glimmer
but it is still awash
in uncertainty

in that light
within that glimmer
glows a tiny spark
of what i hope might be

in due time
i hope the glimmer
will allow itself
to gain some clarity

but until then
i’ll watch that glimmer
from a distance and
hope it shines for me


today i don’t give a shit
about any of it
let her run away
make her mistakes
and when she’s on her knees
with her heart full of need
it won’t be because
i gave her pause
the thing fell apart
because she lied to her heart
and the cold she is feeling
while there she is reeling
was there all along
but she felt it was wrong
to admit to herself
so she put it on a shelf
and there it is staring
back at her uncaring.


10 o’clock
i bet they’re fucking right now
his hands are all over her
she’s got herself wrapped around him
(stop it)
wonder what’s on tv
maybe she’s watching tv too
(stop doing this to yourself)
lying there half asleep
thinking about me
no, i doubt i cross her mind
she walked away far too easily
(stop it)
in a few days i’ll be a vaporous thought
adrift on the winds of yesterday
(stop doing this to yourself)
ah, i need a drink to numb the pain
no, alcohol is like ingesting liquid depression
but fuck it, who cares
i sure the fuck don’t
(stop it)
just like her
oh god, she’s going to marry him
(stop doing this to yourself)
i need a tourniquet to stop
the flow of thoughts
racing through my head
not to mention the gut wrenching
pain, that has to
(stop it)
(stop doing this to yourself)
i need to find a way to stop
please let me find a way to become


that was close.


you almost had almost pulled me out into the light.i almost let you.luckily you let me know i was imagining things so that i could fall back into the place that is most comfortable.the black cold’s peaceful here.and i can concentrate without thoughts of you swirling around making me do stupid shit like smile and daydream.too distracting.i have work to do.things to take care of.i don’t want the turmoil of salvation.i don’t want the vulnerability.too much uncomfortable happiness.thank you for reminding me of this.thank you for making decisions for me.thank you for knowing what i wanted instead of letting me decide that for myself.thank you for not really being my salvation.


that was close.


run like
you never have before
run as if
behind you is a snarling carnivore
don’t look back just
run until
your lungs feel like fire
run because
that monster of desire
will crack your bones
and you’ll never
run again

emotional suicide

i want to commit

emotional suicide

i want to kill

these things inside

not my body

i don’t want to die

just for these feelings

to fuck off i insist

drown them

choke them

slit their fucking wrists

whatever it takes

for them to go away

and to never return another day

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