Subtle indifference with causation as to who’s leading who.
I’ve noticed this context compelled in disastrous ways.
I think the real fallacy is in hand-holding.
This dismay, that if you were to let go or a loved one were to let go, or even the one you’ve been sneakily displaying admiration and affection to for years has suddenly popped up and left because you didn’t hold on long enough or so tightly.
The tighter the grip, the quicker you’ll fall when you really need to be ready.
I propose this image onto even my loved ones.
I love from the back corner, I love and leave to go to the store, I love and leave for a sequistor in my own backyard. I say it’s just to breathe and for space, and even then I find myself wound tighter in this spider network that faults in severity between love, obsession, and admiration.
I didn’t say I left, even if I leave.
When I say I want to be alone, I’m not asking you to leave.
Your thoughts occupy strictly that it’s become a go-to practice.
Even years later, I hold my loved ones, friends, and acquaintances in high-regard if I’ve cared enough to keep them safe in my punctured memory of loss, after all these years have passed and still knock me on my ass habitually.
Even when I leave, you take the fall just to shelter my falling ass away from whatever trouble I wanted to land myself in this time just because entertainment is necessitated and my entertainment must be cheap to free for real fulfillment.
I think that’s the fallacy I’ve experienced in my relationship.
Nothing new. Nothing original.
I don’t want to box myself in when I’ve always been a rhombus imitating a parallelogram and you call me square.
It’s not quite the same.
I think you’re being funny when you insult me directly and note on my insecurities and the banter starts.
Then I sit on it, and realize I’ve left you with all my vulnerability to insult me in caricature and you know I’m not leaving.
I’m just glad someone fucking said it, so I didn’t have to explain it.
You even made it a jokey-joke so I get a free laugh without the show.
I like your concept. I like your plays.
In the end, no matter how long has passed since you’ve heard my words, received text (because I will simply not call unless you call me, I don’t need an anxiety episode), and if I beg you to call, I know where I stand.
Even longer goes since you’ve seen my face.
That doesn’t matter though.
I give up on myself everyday, but I’ve never given up on you. Even if it seems vain, faded, and only in memory.
People are allowed to come and go as they want to.
I’m more on the receiving end of “needing” to, so I physically don’t implode from the waste-away of my over-excess of emotion displayed in cold demeanor and shy, verbose smirks.
I guess in the end, you’re unconditional.
That’s all I’m really saying.
Why?
Because after all this time, I know I’m coming back to you and you’ll be waiting without even sent word to come find my ass.
I smell your bullshit like ozone a mile away.
I don’t know what type of bloodhound you are to keep sticking around and find me, but I gotta admit.
It’s a good look for you.
I wanna see some more of that.
Rabbit-hole it if you need to, because I want to.
In indifferential chaos, I choose you. I hang onto you in the ways I don’t want to explain and dumb down because it wouldn’t catch the concept anyways. I don’t want to look or seem soft to you, even when I’m lathering up the cocoa butter.
I refuse to be weak, even if alot you my softness.
My dainty nature I mostly disdain as I compile ingredients for a healthy enough meal for you to like because you look like dogshit and have shit for brains with all those nitrate meats you like to eat. You don’t realize as I’ve finished half a pot of coffee and berate me to drink water so I don’t bitch my headache into fruition until the end of dinner and I need my digestivo to compensate my appeal for eating healthy (forcibly).
I drink more than my recommended 8 cups of water a day; you don’t do that, but I still want to hear it.
I still want to know that you observe as much as I analyze.
It means you care.
It’s not just me flooding the basement in shit-eating grins, baby talk, and sacrificing my portion of the vape because I know you’re secretly disappointed if I were to break out a loose lucky emergency cigarette when I feel I need it or you wish for it.
I avoid your vices unless it comes to character.
You avoid my faulty characteristics and look to my vices to point out “you aren’t very happy with yourself right now, are you?”
From one shit-eating smirker to the person that eats verbal shit for a living.
I love you.
Thank you for hanging on while I had to go take care of it.
Stick around so we can get around to celebrating one day.
I promise I’ll even wear real pants or that dress or this skirt you like, and lose my sweats for once.
I’ll still be comfortable, I’ll still feel nurtured and safe in this little space we’ve created for each other.
And in the end, you’re the only one I trust to point out my faults, mistakes, fuck-ups, and debauchery crusades.
Even if you join me.
Even if you “fuck up more” than I did. .
I didn’t have to go it alone.
I rather you go lower with me, than stick on your high-horse and I put you on a pedestal.
This isn’t New Jersey, I’m not a stepford wife and you’re not a tennis husband.
I come from the mud, and you came slightly higher in caste than me as gutter trash.
Yet we ride so high in our moody little depths.
An oasis of honesty.
If that’s what I love most about you, about this concept I’ve made of you and all of you.
I showed myself to you.
I trust you.
I was the authentic real me, not flowing in the motions code-switching my entire life to get by.
I know you’re there for me.
You don’t have to tell me, I’ll say it for the both of us.
I’m sorry. I love you. I forgive you.
What do you feel like doing today?
petrichor - archive 
8 responses to “Musings: A letter to unconditional love.”
This is an adventure. So much brutal, soul-baring honesty. So many lines that stand out (“I give up on myself everyday, but I’ve never given up on you” has stuck in my head, I connect with it so deeply). The whole thing has such an incendiary flow. Honestly, Sam, this is brilliant writing. I’m not sure I even blinked once while reading it. Powerful, compelling stuff, my friend. I can’t wait to read your next piece. 😊
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Thanks for making me smile, Mike 🙂 I enjoy that you say my writings are adventures. If anything they’re more like mindless word salad that I have to get out or I’ll have a migraine for a week and being disabled, usually starts the course to putting me out of commission for the while til I start back up again. Writing has been what I’ve been hanging onto. I have other projects in the work, I’m even making music again and quasi-graphic design. I’ve been homebound for much time and almost near isolation has left me to drift in a course that I must propel these word salads onto keys and dribble ink or else my own insanity will fear the insanity to come.
I took a chance on this one after a two-ish week vacations that I tried to treat like a vacation but was mostly whimpering in bed, loud loud loud noise, and productive distractions. [It was manic depressive writer’s block]
The whole playing field in my life has changed and I’ve decided I need to tie it off; all my resentments and misfortunes experienced for the sake of choosing life when life seems so feeble when you’re always sick and prying eyes nudgingly ask how’s the health been.
Almost to the tee of a strict dogma, have I said that my writing is a way of saying it without saying. Every little argument, joke, episode, and trauma I’ve experienced being compelled without risk of someone finding out the truth, and keeping my truth sacred. Until I’m dismayed and left in the discourse and the bottle gives way to notions of breaking.
I skipped the high vocabulary and my half iambic broken verse I usually enjoy and adhere to. Today, I just took the cap off the bottle. I even admitted I’m capable of love and do love, put it into practice even. Which is crazy, even profound for a mutually almost exclusively introverted soul like myself.
Thanks for reading, my friend. I hope you like the next adventure too 🙂
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“Writing has been what I’ve been hanging onto…” I absolutely get this, and I’m so glad you possess this gift, Sam. Your “word salads” appear more like “feasts” to me. Your thought process as you pave the page with emotions is fascinating. So much creativity and deftness with language. It’s a delight to stroll through your magical wordscapes. 😊
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I do like to think I cook and cook well, even when it’s not in the kitchen. I struggle with getting the dialogue out and attention being in the hotspot trying to convey my emotions. Writing them down, and breathing them into existence gives this sort of cathartic actualization for my life and unraveling my past with all its entanglements. I never thought it’d be deemed magical. Let alone from someone I respect as a professional and a person 😅 I usually wash down my fears, loathings, hopes, wishes, dreams and everything that embarreses me with enigmatic mysticism. My favorite part of writing is when I don’t even blink and my fingers are nearly attached to the home row keys, processing even from a blank mind. It’s the only authentic quiet I’ve come to enjoy in life and nourish it. Even when my fingers feel stagnant but they’re dancing as fast as they can. All mine. Then I read it back and get into editor mode and sit back and realize I don’t to didn’t even hold that in whatever disparity or value because my fronting conscious didn’t want to look back. Then I place another puzzle piece down in my never ending puzzle of refuge figuring myself out, especially when it gets hard or the past comes crawling back in mean demeanor. I put my security hoodie on and like an unexpected warm hug, find myself embracing the delight of a non-linear journey making most roller coasters (and telenovelas, but that’s what other people usually say) jealous. Thank you for reading, Mike. I really do enjoy your notes 😄
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It’s my pleasure, Sam. Every glimpse into your writer’s mind is both educational and captivating. Those spinning gears–and those dancing fingers upon the home row keys– produce some thought-provoking stuff. 😊
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I think it’s a nice way to ramble on without feeling shy or getting anxious and presenting awkwardly when I struggle with social cues in conversation and kinda fold in half as far as expressing myself. With the right people and my closest friends and family members, I don’t feel that way. When I do, I know it’s just my little world seeking a little evaluation and validation from myself for a check-in.
So when I don’t feel like bothering my friends with verbose theories, I realized that feeling or experience or sentiment is this new term I learned recently called “dolphining” or “porpoising” associated with ADHD. It wasn’t until I was out of school, that I realized how prevalent my ADHD is and besides boredom, anxiety, and the neverending scroll lists of tasks I just haaaad to accomplish and tasks I never finished (no matter how trivial) – I was just told in school my grades and test scores were too high to have ADHD or any other sort of nuerodivergency [they were mad wrong bro]. So I was that kid falling asleep in class or my earbuds were secretly in and I’d hide like the grudge with long black hair trying to keep my head up but I was just hiding my ears and ipod under my locks so I wouldn’t get caught or I’d just kinda walk off the scene and kill time if there wasn’t any really major lessons or anything new going on to catch my interests, but I kept my education impeccably clean on paper even if I simply was not, a good student or slipping between lengthy periods of going non-verbal.
Socially though, the concept of “dolphining” or “porpoising” which I conceptually understood but used made-up terms like “leap-frogging,” “connection-train,” “rabbit-holing,” and “the spidey web network lingo game” and my favorite “the red thread map” I really really reaallyyy enjoy. They’re all a little different in nuance for me too.
My best friend is also ADHD and let me tell you, conversation between two ADHD or nuerodivergents is the damn time of my life. An utterly impeccable amount of joy🤌🏼 It is such an enriching, expansive, and much closer to as full circle as full circle intellect (not knowledge, because I just view that as regurgitated facts – congrats, you were genetically blessed with good memory and being able to retrieve archives easily and you probably take industrial sized omega-3 supplements, good for you).
My memory has gone through the waves and motions and shitter plenty of times. So it’s pretty cool I get to learn old shit, facts, and concepts like it’s brand new, but familiar ( at least enough for me to catch a flag, place a thumbtack down; just don’t remember the details right now but I know what you’re talking about and now I’d like to talk it out so I know I understand you and I understand me and we understand each other.)
There’s always added perspective and this leads to a more enriched understanding. So when I can bounce off my friends, I’m able to access more archives – inherently enriching my memory or applicating my dusty volumes of knowledge into intelligence and hopefully find a way to turn it into applicated intelligence. It just ends up turning into a shit talking poem that I covered up with vocabulary and broken verse sentiments that would either make most poets roll in their graves or laugh predominantly. Or I post nihilistic memes with many niche references (it’s about finding and following your little outlaw debauchery herd, honestly.) Either way, it catches my attention, so that’s wonderful because expecting myself to focus is like hearing horses and expecting a zebra. It’s a rare thing.
So writing is my little brain flexor. You’ve probably noticed my comments have gotten much lengthier as I learn about you and share our correspondence (this is me rabbit-holing bc I like hearing what you have to say and want to know what you think shhh🤫🤫🫣☺️)
Thanks, friend!!
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I’m sitting here grinning after having read a bit about dolphining and getting a little more insight on it. It’s completely fascinating and really sheds some light on how people with ADHD think and process information. Prior to this, I couldn’t say for certain if I’d ever known anyone with ADHD in person, but now, looking back, I can see some traits a few people in my past exhibited that might place them in this group of unique thinkers, including my last girlfriend. She was a writer, too, an INFJ, struggled mightily with major depression, PTSD, phobias and some OCD as well as night-terrors (her half-Chinese Eurasian heritage and Singaporean locale caused her to reject the idea of any sort of therapy out of abject fear of losing everything she had), and her imagination was brilliant. Out of the blue, she’d say something that didn’t seem to correlate with our Skype text conversations, and while I found it curious and utterly endearing, I always listened and went with the flow because her mind was so freaking interesting. She was dolphining, apparently, her mind working beneath the surface, then popping up for air and telling me things that surprised me and delighted me, they were so unexpected and sincere and brimming with excitement and meaning. I wish I’d have realized what was happening at the time. It was a huge reason I loved her so deeply. There was never, ever a dull moment with her. And her intelligence was off-the-charts, too. She’s the inspiration for all of my love/painful romantic feelings/memories poems on my blog, including “My Jade Remembrance,” which you mentioned in a different comment.
Thanks for educating me on this stuff, Sam. I have a blast reading your comments and following your bread crumb trails as you share your thoughts. 😊
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Jesus, my INTJ-t self is reeling as I struggle to know perhaps, there are other individuals with understanding. My morbid humor loves to say “mental illness unites us all” when I really deem it “variety spice” or a “put a lil pizzazzzz on top, even if it’s just a sprankle.” Whether they were inherited or whatever in their existence compelled themselves to mutate to adhering and gaining to unique aspects, it certainly is fun. It isn’t until recently that my best friend with ADHD has shed a lot of light on the matter, that I’ve been lifting the weight on embarrassment on that fact “I’m usually quiet if you don’t say anything, but if you ping my brain onto something interesting, I quite literally won’t st*u, and you must be the one to stop this venture because I will keep going by pure will and gain my completed red-thread map even after the fumes run out.” They’re so understanding and we have so much fun. The loneliest people all need an ADHD friend, I really mean it. If you don’t think you’re conversational, or people think you’re weird for what you do say, and you close down in convo and don’t know what to say – seek yourself an ADHD friend. It’s so interesting, and soooooo many laughs 😄
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