The truth of men

love, sex, missing, kisses

 

We just think we are strong. We are not. Women are strong, animals too but men are weak, Many machos will find this offensive, however, I believe that deep inside them they agree with me.

I have no problem or complex to admit that I am weak, emotionally weak. I remember my first love and how she made me feel. I remember the first kiss I gave her and how my heart shivered when my lips touched hers. My heart still remembers how it was beating when I held her hand. My body remembers how exhausted it felt after hours of fondling and countless climaxes. She, on the other hand, was cold. She was enjoying the moment, just that moment no further. She was a liar. Anyone who says” I love you” without feeling it is a liar. Yes, she lied to me. She cheated on me or that’s how I felt. Her eyes were not sparkling as I thought, they were base. At the age of 19, I had my first “emotional shock”. My nights back then were long, my temper was sharp my eyes were generous. It was painful to see her in class speaking to other boys and smiling as if nothing had happened. Actually, nothing had really happened inside her heart supposing that she had one. Despite of all that,  I resisted and strengthened myself and I succeeded that year with flying colors. However, a hole was inside my heart. A year and a half later, I started dating another girl. I thought she was different than the previous one. She could make me love her in a short period of time. I loved her hair, her hands and the way her little finger was gently caressing my hand. After two months of promises, it was over. A day after the break up, I found myself crying. Actually, I was not crying, tears were jumping out of my eyes. The latter is not a simile, I swear it happened.

That relation, its legacy rather, changed so many things in me. It started to prove to me that love was a myth and people were not worthy loving. I spent a year or so going out with different girls looking for a lady who would refute and earth my new thoughts on love; however, I found none. A year later, I started chatting with a girl. A very charming girl. A girl that I was ready to face the world for her. I was really serious with her. I loved her. I cried over her. I cried in front of my housemate for her. She went and so did my belief in love.

Today, I am cold and willing to make others cry instead of me crying. I know that those girls might have different versions of their stories with me. I might have been mean, miser, or rude to them. I don’t know. All I know is recalling them is a nothing but a sign of weakness.