COMING UP EMPTY

in order to escape
the potentiality of emotion,
she asks for another and knocks
it back eagerly, then waits
for it to take effect. she smiles,
makes conversation,
allowing the intoxicant to dictate
her words, to cloud her conscience,
to create for her
an entirely fabricated atmosphere
of comfort.
he sits there at her side,
farther away
than the strangers opposite her
at the table, seemingly
uninterested, unimpressed
with the way she so easily
entered herself into dialogue
with his friends,
even facilitating her own introduction
where he failed
to do so.

sad, really, her need to feel
wanted, desired and
pursued—if only for physical
exploits alone.
like sex is synonymous
with acceptance, and indicative
of self-worth.

in the morning, her memory
is hazy at best,
her clothes lie carelessly on the floor,
and his arm rests lazily
on her hip—surely
an unintentional gesture
brought about by sleep. but
it’s an intimate interaction,
and while she certainly enjoys the closeness
it offers, the sense of connection,
however brief it may be,
she’s angered by the insincerity
with which it is associated.
it’s an intrusion, suggesting
an intimacy
he can’t and won’t
deliver. an intimacy
she’s not sure she’d even know
how to accept. the embrace
is empty, his eyes evading
contact with her own at all costs,
his body reaping the benefits
while his mind wanders,
his emotions
disengage.

she sighs and claws
for the exit,
disbelieving what she’s done
but finding unexpected solace
in the familiarity of her feelings,
the inevitable uneasiness
to which she has grown
so accustomed. and she
settles in to the disappointment
of knowing nothing’s changed,
realizing she’s been once again
reduced
to the body
from which she feels sometimes
estranged,
a body in which her sense of self-
worth has somehow become paradoxically
ingrained.

ego schmego

Last night I went out with the not-worth-the-risk boy previously introduced in this recent post. I did this against pleas from my friends to do otherwise, against my own knowledge of his somewhat shady behavior and constant ambiguity, and in spite of the fact that any potential for authenticity between us had been mostly wasted on three weeks of unproductive text messaging.

I’ve been thinking today about why I went, when all signs pointed me in the opposite direction, why I just had to see this boy again even though I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to do so. It had been three weeks since we last saw each other, and I’d spent most of that time being frustrated with his lack of follow-through, his uncertain intentions, his failure to find time to meet up. Life is busy, I know, but surely he could set aside at least one evening—an hour, even—to spend with a girl in whom he purports to be interested.

This boy’s behavior is maddening and confusing and usually inconsiderate. And yet I can’t just let it go. I can’t cut loose whatever ties exist between us and move on. Why did I see him last night? Because I wanted to prove us both wrong. I wanted to show him I’m worth his while, that he would be lucky to be with me. And I wanted to prove to myself that I’m good enough for him, that his ambiguous actions and intentional distancing are not caused by a shortcoming on my part.

Fortunately, I was successful in the latter endeavor, as I came away from the evening feeling more confident than when I went in, convinced I am quite worthy of the boy’s affections. My efforts to persuade said boy of the same produced mostly inconclusive results. He remained generally disengaged for the majority of the night and did very little to make me feel welcome among his friends—who, for their part, picked up his slack quite nicely. The boy was lukewarm at best. And yet, as the action wound down, I found myself going home with him, spending the night there, though I knew at the time that I shouldn’t.

Do I really require this kind of validation to maintain an acceptable level of self-confidence? And do I really want to continue sometimes seeing a boy whose interest in me is uncertain, whose attention is so clearly and completely turned inward at all times? Even I can see this arrangement leaves much to be desired and I’d like to believe I deserve better than what this boy has to offer at the moment. Still, I’m hesitant to separate myself entirely from the situation and I feel compelled to perpetuate this nonexistent relationship for the sake of my ego alone. Because, honestly, there’s not that much about this kid to which I feel particularly attracted. Physically, yes, I feel a connection, but otherwise, my interest in him has been reduced to a pathetic need to feel wanted by him in return. And that is mostly just sad.