It may be time to concede that I screwed up with you.

I failed your test. You presented the perfect opportunity to express my desires… my desire to have you. To bend you over. To be inside you.

And yet again, I played it safe.

Unconsciously, even.

Another missed opportunity. Disappointing you. Disappointing me.

Death is coming for me. And I don’t seem to care. Every day another beautiful girl. Another opportunity for fun. For passion. For life.

And I check out. Like leaving a room at the Marriott. I don’t even notice what I am leaving behind.

Until the regret settles in. Sometimes later. Sometimes much later. It depends on how much I like her. How strong her desire was.

I may not be here tomorrow. Or even this afternoon. How do I check in to my desires?

I was called out that I am not sharing good vibes with myself. That’s not wrong. I am so checked out of my own life, I don’t know how to come back.

I don’t even care that death may find me. I tell myself I want these experiences with beautiful women… yet do I? Or has all of my desire and passion been beaten out of me since my childhood? Why is “We Can’t Always Get What We Want” the song that always plays in my head?

So I undershare. I’m embarrassed to hear/read what I probably need to hear/read. Besides, won’t that make me think? Kick me further out of my awareness?

I must share, though. I’ve got to get my legs back underneath me and stop disappointing myself. I am broken. And I don’t know what to do. How can I possibly reawaken my desires after decades of suppression? For real, not just moments of perceived reawakening.

And then, when I think you’re gone—forever—you check in. A flicker of hope.

God damn it.

You really like me. If only I can dig through the shadows and the lies and the secrets before that changes. Before our season ends.