An Unedited Open Letter to Women...
How is it that I can feel so small around you? Why is it that you can loom so large in front of me, I mean, I never, ever, really once felt comfortable approaching you for anything, especially if I had feelings for you...and there were feelings for more of you than you might ever realize...not always love, or let's be honest, lust, but perhaps occasionally a kind of affinity, or curiosity, for sure something akin to a crush, perhaps. For a guy who's always been able to say whatever he felt, it rarely happened with you.
It's too bad that whatever imagery it is that tells you how to define yourself today does so oh-so strongly because to be honest I've been knocked over by all kinds of you..oh-so very many sizes, and shapes, and colors, and by so many conversations...I'm astonished at how you can allow yourself to be defined by dress size or some f#$%king catalogue or magazine. I get it, but I'm still astonished.
I've never once known what you were thinking...not once, and I've never once imagined that you'd ever be interested in me...not once. I always laughed at that stuff, and if you ever hit on me, or sent me a signal or a sign...if you were ever attracted to me and just couldn't figure out why I would never bridge the gap it's because I never once imagined that you might embrace even a shred of interest in a guy like me. That's not a confidence thing, it's just a matter of me imagining that I might be more impressed with you than you with me. I suppose that says something about how sincere my affections are, but instead all it really means is that I never actually enjoyed anything meaningful with half of the women I, perhaps, could have.
You're tough. I don't know what I am in light of how tough you are, but it's not even the same discussion. We're different, you and I, and you're tough.
It's funny how you're attracted to the confident, cool guys but yet it's the ones who you totally undo that give the greater sh!t, and would treat you the way that you should be treated. Such is one of the world's greatest mysteries, I guess.
Don't ask me to articulate the intricacies of human attraction, especially that guy-girl stuff, but I know this...it's very likely a destructive combination of a hundred things (or just one or two) that slay us. If a guy can tell you exactly what it is that makes him attracted to you, he's not the right one. The words should be lost on him.
My mother raised me and that makes all the difference.
I don't believe in saying things that you can't take back, and I learned that from you.
What's it feel like to be worshipped? Because you can be, you know? Men are almost never worshipped in the way that you are so regularly. What's that feel like? There are dozens of things that you get to enjoy being that we will never know...like beautiful, what's it like to be called beautiful? I've stumbled on the idea of being called beautiful. Men aren't often called beautiful, I've certainly never been, not once, but yet I've enjoyed relationships with you. I've bumbled through very genuine relationships with you and never once been called beautiful. Is it because we mostly aren't, or because that's just not what you say to a man? Either way it would be pretty amazing to to be referred to as that. I don't know how many times I've acknowledged it about you, but it's not something I can ever fathom being told, despite any kind of potential for it's truth.
If you only knew the little things that we adore about you, well, that I adore, that a J Crew catalogue or some magazine couldn't ever convince you to believe. You know what I love, amongst a million other things...that small, ever so cute, little woman belly...that soft and subtle bump. I love that. Your mouth is oh-such a big deal...oh so big of a deal, so I don't understand why you sometimes bugger it up with lip stick...and when you cry your lips get so soft...it almost makes it worth the tears. I'm gonna tell my daughter to work on her smile because you could do anything with those smiles of yours. And what's with that whole hip thing? I can't even dance with you, and rest my hand on your hip or lower back, and ever feel as though there is a better curve in all of nature. Freckles...wtf. Ditto on soft white skin, and your sighs. My God, your gentle unknowing sighs.
I don't quite understand how you can twist me so inside out. I never have, but so far my biggest undoing has been watching you do this Mom thing. It kills me. It does. It flips me for loops I don't think physics can even explain. It goes light years in explaining why I feel so small around you.
It's been something to watch and make note of June. I've been making notes for fifteen years but too often now I can't find the words. That subtle tummy bump though...and those soft post-tears lips...that gentle curving hip...whew...head shakers. Now watching you confidently wrestle with motherhood. Yeah, I don't get it. Undone, I tell you...undone.
It's too bad that whatever imagery it is that tells you how to define yourself today does so oh-so strongly because to be honest I've been knocked over by all kinds of you..oh-so very many sizes, and shapes, and colors, and by so many conversations...I'm astonished at how you can allow yourself to be defined by dress size or some f#$%king catalogue or magazine. I get it, but I'm still astonished.
I've never once known what you were thinking...not once, and I've never once imagined that you'd ever be interested in me...not once. I always laughed at that stuff, and if you ever hit on me, or sent me a signal or a sign...if you were ever attracted to me and just couldn't figure out why I would never bridge the gap it's because I never once imagined that you might embrace even a shred of interest in a guy like me. That's not a confidence thing, it's just a matter of me imagining that I might be more impressed with you than you with me. I suppose that says something about how sincere my affections are, but instead all it really means is that I never actually enjoyed anything meaningful with half of the women I, perhaps, could have.
You're tough. I don't know what I am in light of how tough you are, but it's not even the same discussion. We're different, you and I, and you're tough.
It's funny how you're attracted to the confident, cool guys but yet it's the ones who you totally undo that give the greater sh!t, and would treat you the way that you should be treated. Such is one of the world's greatest mysteries, I guess.
Don't ask me to articulate the intricacies of human attraction, especially that guy-girl stuff, but I know this...it's very likely a destructive combination of a hundred things (or just one or two) that slay us. If a guy can tell you exactly what it is that makes him attracted to you, he's not the right one. The words should be lost on him.
My mother raised me and that makes all the difference.
I don't believe in saying things that you can't take back, and I learned that from you.
What's it feel like to be worshipped? Because you can be, you know? Men are almost never worshipped in the way that you are so regularly. What's that feel like? There are dozens of things that you get to enjoy being that we will never know...like beautiful, what's it like to be called beautiful? I've stumbled on the idea of being called beautiful. Men aren't often called beautiful, I've certainly never been, not once, but yet I've enjoyed relationships with you. I've bumbled through very genuine relationships with you and never once been called beautiful. Is it because we mostly aren't, or because that's just not what you say to a man? Either way it would be pretty amazing to to be referred to as that. I don't know how many times I've acknowledged it about you, but it's not something I can ever fathom being told, despite any kind of potential for it's truth.
If you only knew the little things that we adore about you, well, that I adore, that a J Crew catalogue or some magazine couldn't ever convince you to believe. You know what I love, amongst a million other things...that small, ever so cute, little woman belly...that soft and subtle bump. I love that. Your mouth is oh-such a big deal...oh so big of a deal, so I don't understand why you sometimes bugger it up with lip stick...and when you cry your lips get so soft...it almost makes it worth the tears. I'm gonna tell my daughter to work on her smile because you could do anything with those smiles of yours. And what's with that whole hip thing? I can't even dance with you, and rest my hand on your hip or lower back, and ever feel as though there is a better curve in all of nature. Freckles...wtf. Ditto on soft white skin, and your sighs. My God, your gentle unknowing sighs.
I don't quite understand how you can twist me so inside out. I never have, but so far my biggest undoing has been watching you do this Mom thing. It kills me. It does. It flips me for loops I don't think physics can even explain. It goes light years in explaining why I feel so small around you.
It's been something to watch and make note of June. I've been making notes for fifteen years but too often now I can't find the words. That subtle tummy bump though...and those soft post-tears lips...that gentle curving hip...whew...head shakers. Now watching you confidently wrestle with motherhood. Yeah, I don't get it. Undone, I tell you...undone.
posted by Unknown at
11:13 PM
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