I Want You To Come Back For More

I used to be happy having you for a night. Or maybe two while I was lonely and bored and your touch still lingered on my thighs and wrinkled bed sheet. You were strong and lively and excitingly rough, and I wouldn’t take any less of that deliciousness but we both knew I didn’t necessarily want more either. I found liberation and empowerment in being able to leave, in not reaching out to you and not even wanting to reach out to you.

I wasn’t a fuck girl but I was a cynical girl who didn’t see the point of relationships. I took pride in being independent and self-sufficient, and I never thought I would need a man to be happy. I went on dates and I had my fun. I spent a night and I had never been bothered if a “Good morning beautiful” text wasn’t sent my way. I just didn’t care. I enjoyed my freedom and didn’t want to trade it. I simply never expected to find love because for so long I had believed love wasn’t for me. At least not now. And what is love anyway?

But then I wonder when — when will it be my time? I wonder if I’ve just been making excuses to cover up a painful truth that I was weak inside. I was scared. I was so hurt and guarded that I didn’t dare to dream anyone would ever want to get closer and really know me, to break my walls and be a part of my life. Sometimes I even doubted that it was possible, for I feared being me was being unbearably too much, for my own battle of understanding, accepting and loving myself didn’t seem to end any time soon yet.

I showed the world the pretty part and I kept the rest of it all for myself — hard to contain, tough to see, too broken to love, or so I thought. I used smiles and positive thinking and sometimes even alcohol and nights I don’t care to remember as the band-aid, not knowing when I would be cut open and break down like an overheated machine. Meanwhile, I convinced myself that I didn’t need more. I was alright with missed calls and unanswered text messages, with Saturday mornings quietly watching someone hurrying out of my bed since I didn’t mind anyway.

Maybe it’s true. Maybe on some Saturdays, with some people, at a certain stage of life, I really don’t mind. After all, most of the time, I got what I specifically asked for and it was fun and fair. But when I realised I was gradually settling for superficial relationships, thinking to have someone to hold at night was good enough for now and maybe it was all that I would ever get, I had to do something. I had to look past the easy and comfortable and tell myself another story.

I don’t want to be weak, or scared, or run away like a coward. I’m not a coward. I’m strong and I’m too passionate to live a life of superficiality and mediocrity. And that’s the truth that matters a million times more than fear, than tears, than scars, than insecurities and loneliness. Underneath the seemingly unbreakable shell, the bold statements, the condescending laugh at hopeful lovebirds, has always been a burning desire to be seen, be known, be touched, not just on the flesh but deep inside my core.

There might be too much in me but every bit of that too much deserves at least a chance to be on fire and wholly loved.

I know I don’t want just a night or two. I don’t want voicemail and guessing and not knowing what will happen next. Don’t want “We’ll see” or “I’ll let you know” or repeatedly “Sorry, maybe next time” without concrete plans and honoured words. Don’t want unsure interest and half-arsed attention. Don’t want kisses that are gone as soon as they leave the lips. And especially not the kind of touching that makes me feel like I’m only good for my body. Surely my body says yes to physical pleasure but I also want my mind, my every nerve and every sense to have its own orgasm.

So I will be daring and ask you now. If you can give me what I’m looking for, I want you to keep coming back.

Back for drinks. Back for dinner and wine and talks. Back for long walks and bike rides and slow kisses under the twilight sky. Back for one more night and many nights to let loose and be free with our instincts, to experiment on our bodies and play out fantasies we’ve never had enough trust to reveal to anyone. Trust me. Take off my layers then unwrap everything in me — Raw and fierce and sincerely yearning for your secrets. For the imperfect, wounded and vulnerable. For ideas, aspirations, and dreams. For a world only you see. Give it to me and go all in with me.

You don’t have to be afraid anymore.

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