Warpaint

And after he's gone I carefully examine myself in the mirror. I don't know where all the marks are from.

Was it him, or him, or him? 

Three too many. 

"Well done S, your studliness, even though just for a night, is infinite." 

It's a sort of poetic justice to end up ultimately, after all that fooling around, to end up with an old lover. There is a strange familiarity as we explore each other's bodies. I don't mind the feeling of comfort, I don't mind it at all. I check to see what time it is, there's still a while before we have to run back to our own lives. The night was long and the morning doesn't make me feel terrible about myself. I think about someone I clearly shouldn't be thinking about. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"
So I go back to sleep. I find it rather amusing that my aversion to cuddling is starting to fade away the older I grow.

Love, unlove.
Learn, unlearn.

There is retribution in knowing that spotting him in a crowd of thousands means nothing to me at all. I don't tumble, I don't fall. I don't give him a second glance. He's just another one to me now. I don't feel the need to venture out into the plebeian world, hoping to bump into him. I get a lot of love because I give a lot of love. There is a strange sense of calm, there is a strange sense of closure. Although this was not what I wanted, but I'll take whatever I can get at this point just so I can move on.

He may be a star and everything fancy.

But I'm no riffraff either. 

It's ironic that I get the things he so badly craves for, without even asking. 

As I sing my songs, I sing them for the people and I sing them for myself. My life has always been full of adventures and misadventures and he's just one of the many blurry faces that, quite frankly, don't deserve my validation.

Time changes everything. 

The universe works in mysterious ways indeed.