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Currently reading an omegaverse book, Baby and the Late Night Howlers by Kathryn Moon. Ughhhh, it’s so nice. I know that’s such a simple, nothing word—an adjective of the plainest and most inoffensive kind—but it’s also the truest one. The erotic passages don’t just turn me on, they feel sweet and comforting. It’s a delicious slice of perfectly fluffy chocolate cake with a tangy orange icing neither too sparse nor too dense. I stare into space and sigh while listening to it, wishing my lifetime partner weren’t aroace. Don’t get me wrong, he’s perfectly sweet and he takes care of me, but there’s no heat, no touch beyond hugs and gentle squeezes—certainly no kisses, just brief pecks on the cheek or lips. And I’m grateful for it, but I miss my other—his words and devotion, his genuine adoration stitched through with a lust so complementary to my own for him, the touch I could feel in the way he said my name.

If the stars were edible

And our hearts were never full

Could we live with just a taste—

Just a taste?

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I just want to feel something other than anxious and afraid and lonely. It’s not like I’m not trying. I have built a regular routine for myself to stay productive and optimistic; I’m not always moping and sighing and pining. I read books and make things with my hands and keep a clean kitchen and make my bed every day, a bed that features a colorful blanket I made myself. I make plans to go out and see art and mostly I keep them. I write a little bit more every day. I have (mostly) curbed my “the world’s fucked, let’s have a little treat” spending, though I do buy myself nice things like cute skirts and delightfully weird perfumes, because I want to see and sense beauty in the world, and why shouldn’t some of it be on my person?

I just feel so alone. I don’t expect partnership to be a 24/7 validation machine, but shouldn’t I be able to experience some evidence that my partner wants to be with me in the world, to actively show me emotional support the way I do for them? I’ve (mostly) made my peace with having no romantic or sexual connection; I have proven myself quite capable of celibacy and gave up hope of romanticism long ago. I am poly but haven’t dated in a long time and frankly don’t want to right now. I let go of the wonderful romantic and sexual partner I did have without kicking up a fuss when they decided it was time to end things. Is that the problem? Should I have fought for it? I didn’t want to make their life difficult no matter how much it broke my heart to see them retreat. No matter how much I still feel them beside me every day.

I validate myself and my feelings and my right to exist and have wants and needs every day, but I wonder sometimes what the point is of a relationship if there is no deep joy to be felt together, no flirting, no moments of building shelter in each other’s bodies to hold off the storms of the world. I am grateful for the material support and the day-in, day-out cogs that keep the machinations of life rolling along, but I miss heat, want, words so desirous and kind, the wordless times where love is shown with hands and mouths, the generosity of giving and receiving pleasure.

Am I just base and selfish? Am I just an animal who can’t just count her blessings and sit among them meekly? Am I simpleminded for the ecstasy I feel when I am told how beautiful and wanted I am by someone beautiful I want just as much?

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It’s said that a sexless marriage is when you have sex 10 times a year or less

🫠🙃😣😭💀🪦

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I’d like to think we would have danced.

We talked about our more ordinary wishes of intimacy a little late—things had already started crumbling down around us, our little dreams disintegrating into puffs of fine powder even as I thought salvation was possible—but I meant every word I said. I just wish I’d said more of them. I touched briefly on wanting to cook you dinner, but there’s so much more to it. I want to take care of you and keep a nice home that relaxes you the moment you step foot inside. I want to hold your hand and go grocery shopping and walk to the coffee shop and make up little stories about the people around us for our own writerly amusement. I want to put on chill music with a good beat and improvise little dances with you, be twirled into your arms and be rewarded with your bright and beautiful smile. I want to sit across from you and steal glances while we construct our imaginary universes, flesh out characters, put words into mouths that express our beliefs, our fears, our philosophies woven through the action of plot and change. I wanted to help breathe life into your creations as you do for mine—to be in a place where I was no longer hesitant to offer feedback and ask questions when I couldn’t understand, to be your peer instead of just your admirer. And yes, more explicit intimacy is important to me; our chemistry seemed to burn eternal, the flame always bright, never in danger of being extinguished. But I wanted the soft moments, too. Standing forehead-to-forehead in the quiet, holding each other. Tenderly washing your hair. Sinking into comfortable non-verbal space, breathing, just existing together in the same space without any obligation.

I think of you every day—kindly, gently. There is no bitterness in my mourning. I’m grateful we were ever able to love each other at all. 💜

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I found myself reading something you wrote me three and a half years ago and my heart broke all over again for how little you felt you deserved my patience, my kindness, my softness, my adoration, my love—right in the midst of the most you’d ever expressed your feelings for me, a few short months before you quietly slipped away from me. I should have known then, but I foolishly thought my gentleness could withstand the strength of your protests, that I could prove the stability of my heart as a haven for you—not the solution to your problems, but an embrace and a home for you to feel safe in. I still don’t know if I was too much for you, or not enough. I know now that it probably doesn’t matter, and the anxieties I felt about our friendship/somethingmoreship have long since faded. If you decided I was not for you, what could I do but watch you go? My soul is a secure place where all that you ever confessed and confided will remain swaddled tight. If anything, I hope you finally realized that my love is true and you’ll be safe with or without me. 💜

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Just dying of embarrassment and deprivation and pain sitting through a movie with apparently countless romantic sex scenes, hoping that the blood rushing to my face doesn’t show 😓🫣💀

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If you’re unhappy, you’re allowed to leave. If you feel controlled, you’re allowed to leave. If everything you’re doing defies your intuition… you’re allowed! To! Leave! 🌻💜

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Maybe I’m just about full asexual but you were the only one to light my fire in such a way that I would consent to what was essentially a one-night stand, and I should accept that nothing in the world that is THAT good could or should ever be mine for keeps.

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Neck kisses with you ❦

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bethdrawsthings

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brown eyes are heartmeltingly pretty pass it on