For You, My Dear
I have held you up for too long, my dear. My guilt ridden conscience continues propelling me to perform feats and tasks that I haven�t wanted to do for or to you for a very long time. I was your crutch when you needed it most, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel and I have lead you through the desert and to pointed you to the oasis.
But as soon as you stabilize there are always excuses or incidents that cause you to stumble and you beg of me to throw out the life saving flotation device again and again. I am kind to a flaw, a weakness that I hold that I let very few know about as my life to date is littered with those that have taken advantage and abused this power over me for their own selfish reasons.
I�m certain, my dear, that you no longer do this on purpose or for personal gain, but out of habit and comfort. Something old and familiar is much easier to latch onto than to make the leap of faith out into the nothingness and deal with the consequences once your free fall ends. I�ve tried time and time again to shake you loose and leave you to your own devices. And still you return when you are broken showing up on my doorstep for me to kiss away the tears as you try and heal new wounds with old scars.
It is unfair to both of us that you use our bodies to gain the stability that you need. I can�t say no, you know this my dear, when you force yourself upon me. Lips and tits, fingernails and teeth; you know how to bring my blood to the boiling point in mere seconds. You have first hand knowledge of bedroom habits that I don�t breathe to even my closest friends, let alone dare to splash into the depths of anonymous cyberspace.
Do you even care to know why our torrid carnal romps have been unbelievably intense as of late? Does it matter to you the reason as to why you are left spent and quivering, glassy eyed and smiling in falsified complacency?
I loathe you and you disgust me. I in turn hate myself for letting you do this to both of us and for not being strong enough to set you adrift. When we fuck, and trust me my dear we haven�t made love in a very long time, I unleash all of this as we satisfy our urges. Hate is a form of passion and this is the only passion I feel for you anymore.
The time has come, my dear, for you to stand on your own two feet without me as your crutch or the training wheels that hold you upright.
Long ago in my youth, I merrily raced up and down my suburban street on my bicycle; training wheels supporting me on either side. I was perfectly content to spend the end of my bike riding days with these devices in place all the while my mother continued to coddle and comfort me in an attempt to convince me otherwise. My father, however, knew better and in this case knew best. He was aware that at some point, the training wheels would need to be removed and that I would crash and I would fall. But he was also aware the only way I would learn to do this on my own would be to by leaving me to my own devices.
He ignored my tempter tantrum protest and removed the wheels. The same hands that dried my frightened tears, were the same he used to push my training wheel-less bike down the street and the same that he used to pick me up and place me back on the bike when I sailed a mere five feet and crashed into the neighbors tree. Again and again his hands guided me until one day I sailed past him all on my own, without his guidance and he used those same hands to dry his own tears.
So my dear, I will remove your training wheels and use my hands to push your bicycle down the steepest incline I can find, because you must learn to ride on your own. When you crash and burn, stumble and fall and hit your own proverbial neighborhood tree I will offer you my hand instead of my bed to guide you along until you no longer need my guidance, let alone my training wheels, again.
Please know my dear, last night when I knocked you off your pedestal and coldly banished you from my sight it was not out of cruelty or malice, but out of love and necessity. One day I can only hope you will understand so that I can finally be the friend you need me to be, instead of the crutch you should have discarded long ago.
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