unsent letter

you matter to me

Lately I’ve had a fantasy that you love me how I want to be loved.  You hold me and tell me I matter to you.  You undress yourself and me, lay me down in your bed or the bank of a river.  Then you slip yourself inside of me, and with force I’ve rarely known, tell me over and over again, as you fuck me, “You matter to me.”

Why do I so badly want to matter to you?  With sex to prove it.  I want you to pound how I matter into me.  To hear you say it a hundred times.  I think it’s you specifically, I want this from.

A few minutes later, you ejaculate, with your dick all the way deep inside of me, delivering a full load to my cervix, telling me, “You matter to me.”  Geeze, I’m crying as I write this.  Why does it mean so much?


I strove for your love, for a long time.  In the middle of the night when I’m in too much pain to sleep, lying in bed, trying to calm the shriek of pain from my pinched nerve, I’m looking inside of me for comfort.  My mind will latch onto this fantasy, these past few days.

But then I’m crying, and the tears on my face make it hard to sleep.  Sometimes I cry a lot, suffering emotionally to match my physical pain, which is the opposite of sleep.

Grief stirs around in my body, like some leaves in a mini-tornado–how much I miss you.  It’s a storm inside me.  Nothing can settle to rest.


I’d like to be wrong, but I think it really is about you?  My therapist said I had mostly imagined you.  You’d put up a facade I believed, naive.

But I’m totally sure the glimmers of gold were real.  How much of you is beautiful goodness?  Bright, creative, joyful generous love for the world.  And then how much is selfish, childish bullshit?  Messing with the hearts of people like me, who are serious and believe what you say, when you’re actually mostly fuckin’ around.

Hard to say, from here.  I think I’m right, that you are a river filled with light, driftwood, sweet small healthy fish, swaying green rock moss, and the sun is glimmering on the water.  You are nourishing, hydrating, liquid, and very real.

My spouse says it’s ok, if I’m wrong a lil bit.  Of course, we all have things we don’t notice about ourselves and one another.  Accuracy is always a dream.

So it’s ok to love the you I believe in.  As long as I stay alert to reality, and change my ideas with new info, we’re ok.  But now that our friendship has drastically changed, it’s all more confusing to me.  Like my thoughts of you have disconnected so much, from who you actually are day to day, not sure how much accuracy even matters.


Last night, I wanted to change the story.  I was crying about you, in bed around 2:30am, and thought maybe someone else could give me the validation I was looking for.

So I thought of that Mother Goddess I visit sometimes.  She’s like me but giant, silent, and comforts me with her body.  Steady, fat, reliable.  Usually she sits on a rainbow throne, and she lets me curl up in her lap.  She might rest a hand on me, and I will cry and nestle to her.  She lives on this mountain and looks out over a canyon or valley.  Like a fire lookout, but she would just watch it burn.

Her throne got longer into a bed, she wore a strap-on, and she’s made of the rainbow material now, the rainbow her throne is made of.  She fucked me while saying I mattered to her.  It was odd because normally, she never talks.  She wanted to help me, and I really do matter to her.

I’m lying there, under her.  She’s shoving her love into me.  Yes, I matter to her–yes, I matter to the world.

I consider that she could have grown a bio-dick for the occasion–she’s God.  She can do whatever she wants.  But the strap-on feels right.  I accept her dick, trying to learn what she’s trying to teach me.

Is this sci-fi?  No, not science.  Maybe it’s mythology.  Hopefully not just TMI.  I guess she fucked me to sleep, because I woke up a couple hours later, in pain, but slightly more rested.


There are proximal reasons and tertiary.  You never said I wasn’t worth it, to you.  In fact, you gave me a lot, things no one else did.

But I can say the way you treated me, not prioritizing me, taught me that I’m not valuable.  No way do I believe you meant to teach me that.  But when I prioritized you and you didn’t prioritize me, what was I supposed to gather?

I’m a fat, disabled, crazy person, who you didn’t follow through with, actually visit, to touch, make plans with, or commit to.  Let alone fuck, let alone validate in this extremely wanted sexual, languagey way I fantasize about.

That’s fine you didn’t want me like that, to build something with me.  You wouldn’t have hurt me so badly if I hadn’t been in love with you.  Never did you ask me to fall in love with you.  But it happened, and you didn’t responsibly address that.  Advanced communication is not your skill set.

You ignored my questions if they were difficult, accepted all I gave, and taught me that when it comes down to it, I don’t really matter.  You’re going to prioritize your actual family, the dudes you play Magic with, weed, meetings, your various hustles, and whatever is in front of you.

I never treated you like that.  It was me, my spouse, and you.  We invited you into our family.  I treasured you and told you that.  Sweetheart, valuable, elsewhere.

good needs, bad needs

I’m really tired of the wellness cliche that I’m supposed to validate myself.  I needed you; you were partly there for me.

My needs are ok.  The world isn’t welcome to damage me, then blame me for being damaged.  My needs are good needs–I have good needs all fuckin’ day.

In my final polo to you, I tried to explain that I’m a valuable person, and it would behoove you be kind enough to me to keep me in your life.  I explained how my life is stable and yours isn’t, and all the resources I have, willing to share with you.

I’ve re-watched that polo a few times, and I like the part where I start to cry about the ecstatic dancing.  “You didn’t say you don’t want it, but you didn’t say you do,” I said.  The lack of clarity was hurting me back in January.  That polo was from January–I think you finally watched it in April.  The lack of clarity was hurting me almost the whole time.

You were not kind enough to me, to keep me in your life.  Or I’m sort of still in your life, and still love you.

Nest Joyful

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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