As far as I can remember and as far as we all have been told , they say,”Men are simple creatures.” Simple creatures with no complicated heads, with simple well defined DESIRES of mind and of body. I am writing this running the risk of being misunderstood but understanding is not my duty, its expressing. If any weak, faint fabric of a human is hurt then sorry but, no sorry.
So men ! Not all men but the men in general , the men that we have raised from little boys who were TOLD TO ENJOY hardcore raw , rough MANLY games. From the mud of the streets and fields their hands might have now moved to the touchscreen phones, fingers frantically tossing and tapping the X BOX games and hurling abuses thriving in utter denial of surroundings, getting all turned on by the violent porn, their phones a nest of nudity and yet their brains covered in tethered remains of the pungent smelling shreds of these thoughts and rotten ideas. Those men thinking of that girl at work making love to themselves and their hands. That’s simplicity? Is it?
A very cold relationship with my father has meant a constant quest to know what goes in a man’s head. If a guy allowed me into the inner sanctum of their social circle I would feel a rush of triumph. That approval for me is comforting, all-consuming, highly addictive and, as it turns out, extremely dangerous.
All my life I have listened to how they talk about their women when they are with their friends
-“She wants to get married.”
-“I can’t come out tonight because her in-laws are coming over and she’ll give me hassle if I miss it.”
-“Look at that hot little thing over there, I’d bang that. Bet she fucks like a pro instead of the sack of potatoes I’ve been sticking my dick in for the last ten years.”
-“She wants kids.”
-“I can’t come to your stag party , she wants a new kitchen.”
I listened intently, noticing how they never referred to their partner by her name. I knew full well that it was how my father would refer to my mother despite my mother being nothing like the woman he would have them believe. Nevertheless I found myself resenting what females had done, the mess they had made. They had created an intolerable, generic mould that I couldn’t fit into and I was on a one-woman crusade to prove that we were not all the same.
While I don’t know how the man with whom I am in a relationship right now (I am wondering why didn’t I write the man whom I love) addresses me in his circles I do secretly wish that he proudly calls out my name… out of love and more importantly out of respect. Ii have loved before, broken before recollected the pieces, learnt my lessons and moved on with no baggage and yet never gave up on love. Loved this man with utmost sincerity and intensity but somewhere deep down you know in those little things that you have finally decided to keep quite over that its just you alone walking the road.
Its just like loving a sponge who absorbs all that you can give him including your anger and tantrums but never reciprocate anything… neither the love that flows through souls and nor the tears , the anguish that exist in pain. Its like loving a corpse… A COLD CORPSE. Maybe or maybe not its time to part ways for there are no words left to be said. With no mistakes of him or anyone, its probably his misfortune like everyone else’s …”To Fall In Love With The Right Woman… The Kind That Seeks More Than Money, Sex , Gifts And Cuddles”
maybe its the reality… things grow stale and so do relations. Or may be just maybe …
“The Men In My Life Have Complicated Me With Their Simplicity”