Rotten Eggs and Milk

Ever notice how a man gets older he becomes distinguished, yet a woman expires. Think about it, she stops doing all the things a woman was made to do, Her eggs go rotten, her milk expires. She becomes a shell.

I once said “please let my marriage end while I’m still viable”. Here I sit just two months away from 40, already rotten, already expired.

I pass the mirror and no longer no that person staring back at me.

I feel I have little to no future and I’m on a path of destruction that will ultimately lead to me being old, decrepit and alone.

I’m seeing two roads ahead…..

One stay as I am.

Best case, I meet people that will stay with me for no obligating reason at all. My years of fucking around are numbered. Past a certain age you become a fetish just by breathing.

The other is change.

Tell everyone I can no longer do this. The parties and sex having eaten way too long at my soul, I now long for More….yes, that word, more.

I find I sometimes miss the little things from my old life. Flowers, I love you’s, empty words of your beautiful to me, even when I hate myself.

The problem, they were wrapped in the guise of monogamy that never was, at least on their part.

Truth i don’t want this life of endless dating. Meaningless sex leaving me a shell. It no longer has a damn thing to do with slut shaming men from my past, it now has to do with the empty space that has started to spread in my heart.

So i sit…all day at work with my mind set to task, analyzing, working, improving. Yet personally I stay stagnant.

Sir will say I’m overthinking,

I’m not, I’m just trying to see how this life will work out.

7 thoughts on “Rotten Eggs and Milk”

  1. Maybe, just maybe, it is working itself out in ways you never imagined. What YOU imagined your life to be isn’t always what is in the grand scheme of things. Pardon me for saying so, but when Sir is coming to visit, or you’ve spoken with him, there is a lightness, happiness to your writing, your outlook and attitude. I’ve also observed that when he leaves, you’re sad, melancholy, defeated even. I believe that your Sir makes you happier than you care to admit to anyone, including yourself. It’s not over analyzing you’re partaking in, it’s honesty, dear.

    Liked by 1 person

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