lover, take your pick/fuck.

dear lover,

it's only been two weeks, but if i have to tell you, my mind has become too unbearable because of the influx of thoughts; too much thoughts.

i guess it has not yet become apparent to you that i tend to overthink. yes, i do.

like when we exchange text messages and you do not reply back within the next few minutes, i always review my sent messages and check if i may have said something that would've turned you off. like appearing too eager or attached, or perhaps saying things which would give me away.

you see, i've always been inept with sexual politics, because even when i know that the first one who succumbs to the proddings of the heart loses, i always forget that when i'm smitten with someone. i'm not too proud to admit that i am always at the losing end when it comes to these mind games, which is why, again, my penchant for overthinking has become magnified, because i know that sooner or later, i would need to know the intricacies of this game.

you see, lover, i have been with a lot of souls before, and believe me when i tell you that i can be any lover that you want me to be. if you wish for me to be clingy and appear overly attached, i can be that. trust me. i know how to bombard your phone with text messages like 'good morning', 'have you eaten already?', 'why aren't you replying?', 'good night', 'i love you', 'i love you', and 'i love you' some more. i know how to feign affection with you when we're in a public place and you wish to hold my hand for everyone to see. i can cook for you, wash your dishes, or even move in with you if you like.

or if you want me to be superficial and pretend to like gadgets, talk about foreign celebrities, and become obsessed with giorgio armani watches, i can do that for you. if you feel threatened because you think i'm smarter, i can always nod in agreement with you even when you mispronounce caveat, or you do not know what subservience means. i can laugh at your jokes, even if they're on the verge of being offensive, and i can pretend not to care that you know nothing about faux pas and the need to be politically correct. but if you wish that i be smart, then i can indulge you with my eccentricies and we can talk about the lord of the rings, richard dawkins, and neoliberalization. i can be that for you and more. if you want me to.

or perhaps, lover, if you prefer that we be discreet with our affair, i can also do that. trust me again. i can act nonchalant with you in public, act like we're total strangers in a sea of unnamed faces, and detach at will if you want me to. i can restrain myself from sending you text messages regularly, and if you find it bothersome to constantly have me on the phone, i can pretend to be okay with that. we can have casual sex, puff cigarettes after, pillow talk like a whore and his client do, and i will not expect you to call me after that.

or, at the very least, lover, i can be your fuck buddy; your source of comfort when the world fucks you and you wish to fuck someone in return. i can be your booty call when you feel the need to make love and not mean it, and i promise you that i can restrain myself from calling you afterwards, because i very well know that i am just one of the many bodies that you have chosen to dehumanize, objectify, desecrate.

i've worn the masks of different lovers, all in the past, and all in the hopes of finding someone who'd stay. it has not been pleasant, and to a certain extent, i may have lost a huge part of who i used to be. but i guess we all do hideous things in order to get by. in order to get by, lover.

well pardon me for rambling. so lover, what's your pick?