It's probably a mix of a lot of things. It's probably the cold, the snow, the lonesomeness, a lot of different things...But they all add up. Every element of "what could have been" and "what I wished it have been" converge together to make this feeling of ultimate loneliness. Honesty is a precious and beautiful commodity that I consider a need these days. I feel like it's the only glue holding me together anymore.
I've realized a lot of things about myself in the past week or so. Whenever certain people lose interest and when no one texts back. It all comes down to reflection. I feel like at this point, I'm okay with certain parts of it. But others just sort of weather the rock of my ego much harder than I could have expected. I know now how much I took advantage of people romantically before I left California. I realize now how much I depended on a lot of that attention and how the validation physically and emotionally was an addiction I stopped thinking about feeding and just fed. It wasn't any longer about wanting the feeling, it was about needing it, and nothing really stood in the way of grabbing hold of that warm body and eager heart. After moving here, I stopped. I gave it all up. Celibacy has evolved from a option into an ultimatum, and I'm thankful I chose honesty and integrity over the ease of romance and sexual desire. The hardest thing I've realized is that I don't think I've made a person romantically happy in a long time. Years at this point. I feel like I've amused people and entertained (and on the same token, I've been entertained and amused). And I'm done with that.
I can handle being let go. I can handle realism and values and how I get in the way. I can handle all of that. But there are some things I just can't let go of.
I remember the surprisingly warm January night twelve months ago. I remember everything about that night. I remember what you were wearing (that cardigan and jeans with your little shoestring headband). I remember how warm it was and how I only needed to wear my favorite Converge track-jacket. I remember it being wet outside, leftovers from that evening that hadn't evaporated yet. I remember your eyes. Strangely innocent. I remember the way you bashfully hid your smile, I'd later learn how insecure you were about showing your teeth. I always adored their imperfection. I remember dreading the thought of having to leave and I remember the skip in my heart when you agreed to conversation over dinner. I remember running to Chipotle and calling you to ask what you wanted. Your fucking burritos with just sour cream and no guacamole. Gross. I remember after bearing the cool air we couldn't do anything but go back to your apartment. I remember watching the Office for the first time. Season Two. "Gay Witch Hunt" (now one of my favorite episodes). I remember the way that during the first 10 or 15 minutes we sat so close that our legs would graze each other. We'd laugh together and you could do anything about hiding your smile at that point. I remember it getting late. I remember you putting your head on my shoulder. I remember commandeering your iPod dock and putting on "Young Turks". I remember you creeping up as I laid on my back softly singing "Young hearts be free tonight". I remember you kissing me and how nothing mattered.
I remember a lot of things after that, but I try not to. I block out how much I questioned about myself. I block out how much you got under my skin. I block out the words that were said so naively. I block out everything I came to understand to be hollow and empty. And what I'm left with is the paragraph above. Because everything else just hurts to think about. I used to say "I'd give anything to do things differently." But knowing what you're capable of now, I don't think I want to go there again. I kept on telling myself I let go. But I don't think I ever will. No resolution for open books and no consolation for feelings misplaced.
I love you like I've loved every other girl. And that means I never did.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
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