We are both grappling to maintain our foothold in the world while seeking unconsciously to unbalance the other.

I read only the subtexts and pay attention to what is not said. You are selfish and world-weary and not ready to admit that age had finally caught up with you. We step over cross-currents of gender power play like we would step over laser beams.

‘This is the advantage of wisdom over beauty,’ you say. You think you are all too well acquainted with this incomprehensibility of the other sex and trying to understand would be a hindrance; in other words, you cannot find any good, worthy-of-your-time reason to give a shit because you still manage to get your way, anyhow.

I am young but have lost faith in the power of my tears and the magic of my smiles – all my feminine wiles. To hear you flatter me almost seems abhorrent and repulsive. You are just another man, another challenge, another symbol I want to triumph with my sex and my flesh with full knowledge that it is an exercise in futility, a useless belief that minds can mate as well. I will continue entrusting my soul into this far-fetched image.

My anger is directionless. Do not ever think that you are worthy of having my anger directed at you. It is the same way I have, with naïveté, believed for awhile we were transcending certain fundamental boundaries and exploring unchartered waters. We are not; you are so ignorantly male. My estimation of your species only decreases in my eyes each time you proceed with your dick as guide into the formless space surrounding both of us.

I detest this blind way we all have conformed to society’s psycho-physiological reality, but I have since learned that it is a self-destructive path one goes down if one refuses to accept one’s own nature and the joys and powers it invests. Doubtless, females are built for endurance and I want to surpass parametres each time I have to fight my way through this patriarchal undergrowth. Don’t forget that you put your hand on my thigh because I let you.

When I think how in the past couple of years my confidence in my knowledge of people has been shattered, how I have obtained in place of peace of mind only uncertainty, and in place of happiness a new, painful knowledge and how when I tried to love I learned only recognition of myself, that I am already at the place where I thought I would begin, and can only begin at the place I have ended at…I have unknowingly returned to my first restoration point. ‘Security’ and ‘sacrifice’ are still, to me, words that get the sun in my eyes when I look up at them on a bright afternoon. I love this constant flux of stable, peaceful uncertainty that is me and nobody else will try to tell me I am being unrealistic. Contrary to popular sentiments, I never forget what should be forgotten, nor overlook what should be overlooked. ‘What is your name again?’ ‘Pink elephants, love!’

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