Archive for January, 2011

When we fall in love, when we surpass the weeee of it and step back, looking at the person, catalog their flaws and scars and realize that not only are we “in love” with them, but that we can honestly, love them with each of these flaws. That each body scar, each soul scar, is just a spice that has gone into the entire dish. Without each element, this gorgeously flawed man or woman wouldn’t be who they are, who we LOVE.

Now, what comes after we realize this? After we put our heart out there and ask for nothing in return, except respect. What happens when the respect goes out the window because the individual of our love, is so terrified by this love, that they do everything in their strength to make themselves so despicable that there is no way you could possibly continue to love them. If it was as simple as they didn’t like you, didn’t care, and just wanted a piece of ass, they would have dumped you months ago. Why the elaborate ruse? Why put that much effort into making the worst of two decisions?

10 months ago I met him, Type Geek. At first I was unenthused. He was interesting, but also, he seemed to lack depth, until I dug deeper. When I stopped seeing Cooper Fiennes I had considered bringing some other men into the fold, but then I considered it unfair to Type Geek. In side by side comparison he didn’t fare well. He was a workaholic who rarely let you in. He was shorter than what I was “looking for”. Bald, when I wanted hair to run my fingers through. A cat owner, when I hoped for someone to fall in love with my dog. For some reason, I decided that I would give him some solo Type Geek time, to see if the gem would sparkle on its own.

I’m not sure the moment I realized that I was in over my head, that I was suddenly facing a future I hadn’t planned for. When I was in his arms, when his face was beside mine, I had the sense of finding my way home. I could close my eyes and see into the future, imagine making him dinner for years to come, sharing a bed, sharing a life. Only, at some point he stopped sharing, he started erasing, with vigor.

The exhaustion has set in, I have cried myself to sleep too many nights in confusion, and I have come to realize that I have reached that point where if I continue on this path as it is, I do not deserve my own self respect. 6 days ago I left my last text. 5 days ago he texted me, telling me that , indeed, we should fuck soon. I didn’t respond. Is he back now? From his trip to wherever it is he truly went? It would seem so. Will I hear from him? At some point, I think. My presence is all over his apartment. He can’t ignore my existence forever. Will he realize his wrong doings? Quite possibly he already knows what they are, but that they are part of his plan. If I leave because I can’t handle it anymore, he hasn’t had to break my heart by dumping me. I once told him that he didn’t hold the power to break my heart, to hurt me yes, but to break my heart, no. Was that a challenge in his mind?

So, I ask all of you to send me super human strength, to keep me from texting him, from emailing him, because I miss him and the sound of his voice. Not the him that is being an utter ass, but the him that is truly behind all of the nonsense. The him that I love. The man who hides behind the boy.

10 months ago we said hello. How many days before we say goodbye?

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It’s possible that every decision I have made has been wrong. That the things I have said to him, that you the readers don’t know about, that they contributed to this isolation. The more honest I tried to be, the more open to the process, the more open to him, perhaps this closed him down more. Men don’t want honest. Men don’t want open. Men want to fuck and eat and not think about whether you are going to worry if they haven’t spoken to you in 3 days because you have some PTSD after having had several friends in your life die tragically and then, irrationally,  you worry the worst when people are unreachable, because you realize that the world is better with them in it. Because suddenly you have found someone who you can’t imagine what the world would be like without them or their unique views or sense of humor… or that thing they do with their nose. You just know that when it isn’t so hard, it feels like home, and not just any home, but a mid-century modern cube home with ceiling to floor windows, perfect light, and a kitchen you can really move in and then you realize that you’ve been homeless for so long. That makes the hard stuff… not justifiable, but easier to justify or consider or give the benefit of the doubt about. That sense of home, makes the possibility of regret that could come from walking away from it all, that sense makes it impossible to walk away if there is even a miniscule chance. ANY chance.

Maybe I am wrong. BUT, maybe I just need to have his face in my hands and look into his eyes and ask him if I am, before I throw in the towel. Before I suddenly make myself homeless.

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There might be some untruths occurring. To deal with this I have been swallowing my need to express, to demand answers and explanations NOW and waiting until the third round of business trips ends and he is sitting in front of me, the first time in over a month. This is the reason I have been silent. I haven’t been writing through my feelings. I have been cooking through them.  Making cheese and butter in my new kitchen. Rotisserie cornish game hens and pork loins. And then, I’ve been shedding a few tears when I find myself unable to find the inspiration to cook. He has brought an element of rediscovery into my cooking, becoming my food muse, and at times, when the confusion becomes deafening, my culinary skills are cut short. If I can’t cook, if sleep becomes elusive, I can find myself distracted mentally. Trying not to think of what I don’t want to, but unable to focus on anything else, my thoughts go into a haze, as a method of emotional separation. Then, some moments,  have been steeped in tears when I can’t decide what to do with my frenetic heart. When nothing else works. When it catches me before I see it coming.  Asking the universe for guidance and the patience required to wait and speak calmly in person. Asking the universe why something that is so perfect, is so imperfect, in a world that needs a little magic.

I don’t believe that love should be easy, I know that life is messy and complicated, and for that, I don’t assume that romance should be any different. But JESUS, does it need to be THIS complicated?

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