We need to talk.

Seriously. But I'm becoming increasingly aware that you don't know how to have this conversation. So I'll start. I'll scribe my feelings on this here blog, and hope that you have heard me mention it enough to come check it out one day. If you don't then we'll just keep awkwardly trying to have this conversation, and we will continue to flop about helplessly like worms caught in a puddle.

See Baby, the fact is simply that you don't listen. There. I said it. You claim the same can be said for me, but we keep having some very trivial misunderstandings all because you.don't.hear.me. I have told you from the very beginning that I am -not- pressed about "relationships". I couldn't begin to care less about a fucking title. I have enough adjectives attached to me as it is. I don't need to be your "Girlfriend" or your "Bitch". Your "Boo" or your "Girl". All I want to be is your friend and lover. I want nothing more than to be simply be the woman to your man. Still, you keep getting it twisted around and pulling away from me, expecting me to demand your full attention or set down a decree of mutual exclusivity. I won't. So while you keep pulling back, you stop us from growing together into the wonderful team that we could be if you would just let it flourish.

I don't have an issue saying that I love you. I love your company and your advice, and I love the way you look at me over tea and the way that you have those flashes of sheer awesomeness (like when we wrestled for the first time and you damn near killed me, cuz' you didn't care that I was a woman or that I had on a skirt). I love the way you love me back, but still you fight it like Tyson, like it's something that you can beat into submission. I love the way that you put space between us because of the fear of your own developing feelings but when we reconnected you were just as giddy as I was. I love how much you want better for me, how you see my potential and hate me a little bit for not living up to it. Please also note that I did not mention anything about sex. FYI-I was pretty damn orgasmic before I met you, and I don't need to burn all the gas I spend getting to your pad when I can blow my own damn socks off and then sleep in my own damn bed.

Ahem.

Here is what I don't love about you. I abhor how you scream at me, as if somehow it's helping you getting your point across when in reality it makes me want to rip your spine out. I detest that you can admit so many things about yourself but how selfish you can be. I hate how you can talk to me about fantasy football 55 out of 70 minutes, but if I bring up my fantasy b-ball team TWICE I'm being "bothersome". Then there is the simple fact that you continue to handle me as if I'm a cougar stalking it's prey donning a bridal veil and clutching wedding plans. Oy. Look, I am pretty damn sure that you have screwed other women since we've had our arrangement, and yes, I get the tight face sometimes when I think about it. But do you want to know why, darling? Because despite my earnest plea's to you for full disclosure and complete honesty, you still can't just tell me upfront. What hurts is not the fact that my lover is spreading himself around, but that my friend can't be honest with me. And yes, dammit, blowjobs count.

See, I know that you are aware of the fact that I'm pretty much exclusive with you. And because of that you may or may not feel a touch guilty about seeing other people outside of the few I know about and don't feel threatened by. Again however, I say that I am not exclusive to you due to obligation or due to my being "your girl". I am exclusive by choice. This ball of string we have is enough for me at this point in my life. I also know that if you let me, I would be your 80%. I know you know that, too. So really, I don't care about random blowjobs or dates here and there. At the end of the day, you can pick up the phone and ask either she or I for an hour long backrub, and full pedicure, and great conversation. Only one of us will stop and pick up a Sunday paper and a lemon iced tea on the way.

See, it's okay, Dee. This love thing. Really. Its okay for you to love me, just as its okay for me to love you. We don't have to be "official" to feel that way. Because if life has taught me anything, it's that just because two people love each other and have the potential for greatness that doesn't automatically mean that they are destined to be together. See, I may be Michelle Obama, and you might be Ossie Davis. But shit, man...forget titles and expectations, and let's just BE. Let's just love and touch and breathe and see where it takes us. Let's enjoy this ride, and allow time to shape us into the best pair of whatevers that we can be. But you have to let yourself go and stop trying to assume what I want. Because in all honesty, all I want is you. You want me in some capacity as well, although I’m not sure if you have decided which yet. That’s more than cool. Just remember how we laugh together, and would go to war for and with each other. We make awesome friends, and that connection is the main reason we keep the other around. But to deny our mutual urge to exist as something more than that merely because you don't want a title and may feel like boning someone else every once in a while...I think that's just silly.

I don't care who you fuck or let blow you. I don't care who you take out to what concert. None of that matters. What matters is that you are loved right now at your potential worst; you are worshiped without pretense or fakery. You are my focus when I know I'm not yours. Perhaps I could just be insanely naive; perhaps I am oblivious. But I don't think I am too far off in this case.

Baby, you already know what you want. If I could just get you to stop talking about your Sportsline team long enough to just tell me...we'd get somewhere. Whether it's platonic, romantic, or some combination of the two, there will be no goodbyes. Only love.