When did we start growing tired of one another? I think it started when you called me a ‘pig’ for thinking sex shouldn’t be something so private. You hated how I preached it as the one thing we all really have in common, so why did we lock it behind closed doors and turn it into a taboo? Or how I’d grab you in public, my way of showing you affection, but your turn-off. I’d confuse the rosiness of your cheeks for excitement, when really it was just your lack of comfort burning on your face. I used to get turned-on by your turtle-necked sweaters, or when you’d pull the duvet over us mid-day, I thought your shy ways were cute and intriguing. But now, your conservative demeanor was the source of my fury, turning our intimacy into a struggle. It geared all our conversations towards it, the one thing you hated talking about was constantly on your lips: sexuality.
Your incessant sighing around me was the first tip-off that we were done; the way you’d roll your eyes when I’d reach for your hips or how you’d swat my hand away from your thigh as you read over breakfast. Dinner dates grew few and far between, you didn’t like the movies because a darkened room in public was something exciting for me but less thrilling for you. Sex was for the bedroom, it was missionary and bland, we did what we were supposed to and that was it. Roll over, go to sleep.
Now, years later, I’m sure you’ve moved on to some poised, white-collar chump with clean fingernails and a wide vocabulary including words like: verbatim, ex dividend, or ipso facto. He probably enjoys watered down coffee in the morning while reading the business section of the paper. You were always one for dry, poignant conversations and witty retorts that kept those people around you on their toes. I bet he’s that guy, constantly picking at you to button the top-button of your blouse. You think he’s helping you perfect yourself, but he’s really just another flavorless college graduate with some cookie-cutter views of the world. I’m sure you get off to his insipidity.
So how is it fair, that even though time has crept on, that I can still only get off to girls as callous and cold as you. How I look for the challenge you posed in every girl? I hope for a change every day, but in the night I always find myself pulling the clothes off some girl who’d rather the lights be off because it seems more intimate. To me, a cold, pitch-black bedroom only strengthens the fact that we are strangers. And I’ve grown tired of always being strangers.
