I Just Want To Be Wanted Again, Like The Way You Used To

You might be here, but yet you’re distant. The empty space between our bodies in the bed feels like miles instead of inches. I search your eyes, desperately seeking to find you, only to discover that you are far away from here.

I wonder what I did to cause your soul to stray both from your body and from me. I’ve never tried to hold you captive, though you’ve managed to ensnare my heart in ways no other ever managed to do. I hopelessly attempt to lasso you and rein you back into my life, but all that seems to do is send you further down the river, far beyond the reaches of my rope. Maybe that’s because I’m no John Wayne and you’re no wild horse.

Your silence pierces my heart until it bleeds. I drivel on about everything and nothing, hungrily awaiting any utterance from your mouth. I reach out to try to connect with you physically, yet instead of that electrifying touch of days gone by, I feel the bitter cold that has frozen over your heart and closed it off from me. My body longingly aches for your touch… a simple gesture you refuse to give.

I frantically search for answers, looking for clues both in the sky and on the ground. I’ve started feeling lost and coming up empty-handed yet again. I hysterically attempt to turn back time, but in the end I’m no Emmett Brown and there’s no DeLorean in our driveway or flux capacitor in our home.

You snore so sweetly, resting peacefully without even realizing how I spend most nights antagonizing over both my broken heart and bloodied soul. I wonder how long we can sustain this fictitious life we lead; I question how long I can live with this aching emptiness that consumes more than just my chest. The truth is, I feel powerless, broken, and alone. I wish that I could shatter every mirror in sight so I no longer had to gaze upon this hideous face that you no longer love; I feel like The Beast instead of Belle. I’m not sure that I could ever leave you, but I often wonder if anyone else would ever find my aging body desirable again, like the way you used to.

In the end, I just want someone to hold me, to connect with me, to want me in their life. I just want to feel loved again; I want someone to want me and be thankful that I’m still alive.

But maybe I’m not meant to be loved. Maybe my soul was meant to suffer through life alone. But, baby, I just want to be wanted again, like the way you used to want me back when we were young and reckless.