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Posts Tagged ‘sadness’

I’ve been ok, I have been surviving. Sad, yes. Finding the whole thing senseless, yes. Missing this man who I still believe in my gut I am to grow old with and trying to give him space. Then, like he snuck into my room over night, I realized that I had left our glasses on the nightstand. I missed them for days, just sitting there like little memorials, that is how busy I have tried to stay.

I sighed and picked them up. Finding myself a bit overwhelmed with emotion, I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared off, missing his smell, missing his face, the feel of his body hair, arms, chest, head, how tactiley different each is under my fingers. I cried at the realization that I will probably never touch him again. Then, in my hand, I looked at the glass and saw his lip print. Before washing it, I took one photo and placed it to my lips in a sad moment of trying to connect. He’s not there though, it’s just a glass. My pillow didn’t smell like him after he left and my skin, my shoulder, only retained his scent for an hour after we last made love, and god how I hate that phrase, but I realized that it had changed that night. That what started out as fucking took a decidedly different turn shortly after it began. For those last few hours we were together, sharing space, he actually took down the walls.

Jesus Christ, I miss him.

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  • Because if it’s really good, you realize what you aren’t going to have anymore.
  • Because if it’s really bad, you feel shame for trying to relive a connection.
  • Because sore nipples, over exerted thigh, ab, arm and ass muscles are really sexy reminders of sex with the person you love …when you are together, but horribly sad reminders of them for days after you said goodbye.

I’m sore. My legs are stiff, my nipples sore, lips tender from so much kissing, as they all can get from a good rousing fuck with Type Geek, only it’s not sexy this time. It’s sad and numbing.  I miss his stupid head.

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Weeks. We haven’t talked. Emails not returned. Texts ignored. The silent treatment again. I get too close… Type Geek pushes back with greater force. My gut tells me it’s done. I have done all I could, said all I could, presented my best arguments for why YES, rather than why NO. Fear and shame are tricky things, and he has mountains of both.

I love that head of his though, the nose that twitches as he thinks of something, the pigeon sounds he makes when I kiss his back in the early morning hours and his tush, which is perfectly delectable and causes me to want to bite it every time I see it. In the marrow of my bones, I could grow old with him, but he can’t see me standing in front of him. How many more ways can you ask someone to try, when they can’t even hear you? We are supposed to “talk” soon. This week. We shall see how delightfully he words his Dear Jane speech.

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I’ve never been as lonely as I have in those moments when I am missing him.
When I am seeking his voice on a day when 5 seconds on the telephone would make weeks of grey clouds clear.
When I hear people, celebrating, or just gathering together as friends on their decks on hot summer nights, and I can’t reach him, this is when I feel alone.

I’m in a moment of questioning. I have big answers now, but they don’t seem to make the questions fewer. I want the answer from the universe. Why? Why did you put us together, Type Geek and I? Am I supposed to teach him something, or visa versa? Give me the lesson plan already! Let me skip to the last chapter and see what the outcome is. I don’t even know what chapter I am in. I feel like I am living a slow French film, without the gratuitous sex. Like a French film, it will probably end abruptly, with no explanation and everyone in the audience will be left scratching their heads and looking to each other for understanding.

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Starting to date again after falling in love with someone and then breaking up, well it just sucks. I am trying to get out there, trying to meet people, flirt, find some inkling of excitement in the prospect of new people and experiences, at a time when all I want some nights is to curl up into the warm soft space of Type Geek’s shoulder or chest or belly and find myself falling asleep. Big dramatic sigh.

Now, I went out with the Daddy WireFramer whose self-esteem issues had me completely turned off, I had sex with my Internet Skype guy, and I have been chatting with a few others on-line. It’s an interesting array of men, but all have a similar thread, appreciation for food. There is the Pac NW/NYC Foodie, the Real Estate Foodie, the Media Tech Getaway guy, and the Doggie Dad who just seems sweet. He’s older than I usually go, but I’m not expecting to fall in love here, I am trying to give my heart some room so that it can heal itself. This includes distracting myself in moments when I am finding myself reminiscing woefully. Last night I did this by playing a game with two different men, the foodies. The game was a little… Would you…Either/Or?  

The men would ask me 2 questions and I would need to answer 1, then I would ask 2 questions and they would answer 1. The questions ran from mild to naughty, from topical to highly inquisitive. Did it drive me closer to any of them? Not really. It did however bring me closer to sleep, closer to a sheer exhaustion that had me less restless, less consumed by the loss I feel without Type Geek. I miss his voice, his touch, his laugh. I know, he hasn’t been that for a very long time, yet I miss him, and those moments regardless. 

So, at 3:33 am, I find myself gamed out, and ready for sleep. 2 miles from Type Geek but worlds apart. I miss him and getting out there and trying to date only makes me more aware of what I have lost. The games with the other men, they are just that, meaningless games. Maybe someday the games will become more serious and I will find a worthy opponent, even if he isn’t that 5’8″ bald workaholic with an adorable tush and a palate worth creating culinary masterpieces for whom I fell in love with in 2010.

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Letting go and trusting is hard. I’m not sure if I am making the right decision to do so or if I am being my own most ignorant enemy. In the future though, when I am looking back over my life, will I regret time spent trying and hoping or will I regret times I have walked away with my dignity, but without really having tried? I don’t have the answers, but I also don’t have the guy. Not really. So, what am I really doing here? He is on the other side of the world, and hasn’t checked in yet. My decision, at least for now, in the strength I am finding now, is to NOT contact him while he is away. To start being the girl who isn’t the aggressor, who isn’t the sure thing. I’m tired of begging for what someone should want to shower me with. Send me flowers bitch. Sure, we all have things going on in our life, good and bad, but we also have each other and that isn’t something to ignore. I am a prize, not just someone who is worthy. I am in love with him and I will try to breathe through the coming days and trust that he does in fact want me in his life, and if he doesn’t contact me, then he doesn’t. What more can I do?

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