The Story – the masochist

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I keep asking myself why it is that I struggle to write about you, I still talk to you and that’s super easy for me to do, sometimes too easy.

Closure, or a lack of it, Is that it? Am I still hung up on the age-old question of ‘what if?’ how do you make me forget it all? Something about you and our past isn’t like the rest, its like my mind is blocking out all of the shit we went through, so I can continue liking you, talking to you, confiding in you. You once told me that you wanted me in your life regardless of how or why and here I am, but why? AARGH! Why do you have a hold on me? It’s not even the kind of hold that makes me still love you, its something else, something harder to explain and I just wish I could, I wish I could put how I feel into a clever poem like the rest of them, write a blog post about our time together with ease but I can’t, at least not yet.

Sometimes though the negatives do slip through this wall I’ve built, and It makes me erratically angry, makes me question how the hell you are still in my life and I don’t want to have those thoughts. I’ve often felt in the past that I was always something you wanted so bad and I made myself available for you to take, then when you had me, like a spoilt child with sand in his hand you simply let the waves wash through your fingers and I was gone yet time and time again I’d let you in to repeat the process. A masochist, you turned me into a masochist and I let you.

Maybe I will never know why I always feel this way with you and I’m not even sure if I ever want to know but until then I’ll happily continue being your friend and your Ex, the masochist.

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