For you my lover, I give this kitchen knife
I keep thinking of this guy I hooked up with a few months ago. I was thinking perhaps if you met him you would like him: smart, cute, and quite a bottom. I imagine you two going at it in every possible way but, really, I should stop thinking of things like these because it makes me feel like my heart is being carelessly stabbed with a kitchen knife, with the steel blade slicing and dicing my insides, turning blood and muscle into a slush. I shouldn’t think of these things because it just shows how insecure I am and, I like you, very much. I just read today that to Sartre all sexual love is doomed to be either forms of masochism or sadism. I may have found my love expert, darling.
I thought about you and the guy and this whole affair of unrequited love tonight. Maybe its karma, I thought, since I had also carelessly set aside other men in the recent past. Perhaps, it is my time to suffer? But then of course I still have to decide on whether I believe in karma or not or if I fully subscribe to the belief that “man is the future of man.” It did, however, made me think of how sleeping around spreads not so much pleasure but, ultimately, among other things, the disease of loneliness. Darling, I may have to date you the next time we meet.