Dear submission diary:
No matter how temporary this thing between us is, no matter how much longer it lasts, even if you were to say to me tomorrow: we are done (with what it is that we’re doing), there is one fact, one mantra that I’ve been reverting to lately.
I am yours, and you are mine. My daddy, my D-type, my Sir, my lover. No matter how fleeting this is, that fact remains here, with me, buried deep in my chest. I am yours, and you are mine.
I have no illusions about this, about this us that we have cultivated.
I demand no fanciful declarations of undying love, no promises of courtship, I have no need for a boyfriend/girlfriend setup. I will never ask you to be with me in that, because if we were going to be together in that way, it would’ve happened a long time ago.
I am not crying out for comfort, or asking you to lie to me, or demanding that you sugarcoat the realities of our relationship.
I enjoy the small, delicate moments of tenderness between us, but I have no expectations that they are more than that. Sometimes I want more tenderness from you, but not because I think it would change things between us.
I wish I could say I never wanted more of you, or felt more for you, because it would make things clean between us, it would eradicate the need for half-truths and eggshell-stepping.
But I am trying to stop being so weepy and so mopey. I am trying to stop being so uncertain, so defeatist, so worried about tomorrow when I should be trying to make the best of today.
I want to revel in our friendship. I want to revel in our dynamic.
When I am feeling low and beating myself up for no reason, when I am paranoid and full of doubt, I remember this:
I am yours, and you are mine, until we are not anymore.