Tag Archives: demisexual

Stiff Upper Lip

Dear Mallory,

Today, I thought I saw you. My heart skipped a beat. It felt like I was about to crash my car into your existence and at that moment I wanted to call out “hello” in my excitement and horror. Then I wanted to hide from you and the fact that I had messed up. And even though all the while I knew it wasn’t you, for all the anxiety and misery and fear it caused to think I could have bumped into you and made bad get worse… I wanted nothing more than for it to be the case. Because I never knew that the last time could or would be the last time.

And I didn’t mean to care.

I didn’t mean to love your laugh. I didn’t plan on being fascinated by your tattoos and loving the way your glasses fit your face. I didn’t mean to be warmed by the sound of your voice… Or charmed by your love of hockey.

And now I wish for silly things. Things like remembering what your favorite NPR show was. And what exactly your tattoo said because I remember thinking someone who wore that philosophy was probably awesome company… And it was true, for the time. I want to hear your laugh again. And get frozen yogurt. I want to converse about social justice and see what you think about things. I wish I didn’t for the first time regret having sex with someone… Because it was fantastic. I didn’t mean to have sex with you. I didn’t mean to like it so much. And I didn’t mean to trade it for the chance of getting to know you. Because getting to know you was one of the few experiences I was having that the prospect of simply made me happy.

I have fantastic half memories.

But I suppose to you I’m the guy that all in 2 days: banged your head into a wall with his pants down, poured salsa in your tequila shot, dragged you on an errand for his mother to the ghetto grocery store, and then proceeded to drunkenly, amorously hop in your bed one night.

I wish you’d have told me how you felt at the time.

I wish that when I asked you to breakfast you’d said yes. Cause it was meant to be an apology and I just wanted to clear the air. I wish you’d given me the chance to fuck up in person, instead of assuming that I would. I wish I seemed to you like I was worth getting to know better. For some reason, I can’t quite explain the only thing I knew about you was that you just seemed like you were worth getting to know better.


PS I really mean it when I say I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did to give you the impression I didn’t respect you and it deeply troubles me that I did somehow.

PPS If it means anything to you, I’m demisexual.