The Prelude to the Memoirs

I'm so anxious. And not the sexual, Ginuwine anxious. The anxious feeling I get when I know my past is catching up with me. When my reputation precedes me. It's uncomfortable and scary knowing that yet another person is about to discover my biggest regrets. I can't take them back, I understand that. But I just wish that the moments could be buried with the memories. As easily as I push them to the recesses of my mind I wish that I could do the same in the minds of those around me. I don't like watching people's eyes change and look at me differently. I don't like hearing people's voices change and talk to me differently. I don't like knowing people's perception of me has changed negatively, permanently. I can't take back my actions any more than I can take back people's reactions to them. That hurts.

That Funny Little Thing

I'm not sure how it starts really, being in love. I suppose it's possible that I've never been in love. That this whole time what I've been feeling has been lust. The thing is, I'm pretty sure lust doesn't feel this strong. I'm pretty sure lust doesn't make you cry. Lust doesn't make your chest fill up with warmth and joy. I don't think I've ever gone out of my way to make someone happy just because I wanted them. However, I have done so because I wanted them to want me. The same way I yearned for their attention, for their acknowledgement, for their  adoration, I wanted them to yearn for that from me. I don't think lust does that. And if that's the case, then I can say I've been in love three times in  my life.