Break ups are like an emotional Cha Cha or Fox Trot, lots of dancing around and sometimes you end up with something beautifully unexpected and sometimes you end up twisting an ankle and landing on your ass in front of a thousand people. Not sure which of these I am headed to yet.
Saturday was spent moving things from my condo, and receiving surprising texts from Type Geek. He suggested “I stop by if I wanted, you know, to grab stuff.” Well, did I really want to? No, but I knew that it was for the best. Although it was strange timing, his text. We spoke earlier in the week and he was surprised when I said that my offer to get together was one of friendship, that while I had feelings for him and missed him, I got it. He doesn’t want to be with me and I wasn’t trying to figure out how to seduce him, I was just trying to be his friend. 4 days later he texted me wanting me to swing by. 2 hours after I awoke from a dream in which my arms were wrapped around him in an auditorium of his peers, seated on a ledge, my arms and a shawl wrapped around him because he was exhausted and feeling ill. He leaned against me and exhaled, a slight smile on his face. Then, I awoke feeling saddened by the vivid memory of his face so close to mine. The warm skin against my cheek.
I missed him by 20 minutes. He had gone for a run, and I had stopped for iced coffee. Sitting there, on his porch, I realized he might have fallen asleep on his couch, so I tried to glance in and rouse him. he was not there, which I hadn’t realized at that time, but I saw that he had kept all of the flowers I had ever sent him, dead, but beautifully arranged, in his living room. This sight made me sad, as if my memory was on display. I don’t quite understand.
The rest of the evening was spent with a friend who is being sent on a year-long deployment to Afghanistan this Thursday. After a wicked margarita and a spicy chicken mole , a 20 minute drive that took 14 minutes on barren highway, and a quiet subway ride home with the dog, I found myself laying in an empty bed, fighting restlessness, as the hours jumped forward and robbed me of sleep.
Today, the day was 15 degrees colder, and grey. I slept late, woke later and sat, feeling sorry for myself, writing words of nostalgia as the sun suddenly appeared through the blinds. Just then, I considered his face, sleeping, the morning sun warming his skin with golden light. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent, felt his body against mine in the bed, nothing between us but those layers of skin. With my eyes closed, the text came in. “The sun came out.” I told him that his timing was impeccable and peculiar and then he told me that he was feeling depressed. I was headed to work, I wasn’t sure how to respond. I told him that I was headed to work and could offer an ear later, if he needed to call. He didn’t.
So, what now? I made a date with an English Prof who just got back from living in Europe for the last year and ate too much Nutella. Exhausted, I sit here, restless, and painfully in love with someone I can’t have and can’t lose. A dance of forwards and backwards. Backwards and forwards.
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