I am restless. I have a vague notion to draw, or clean, or shower, or go to bed. I am tired, and glued to my computer. I have a vague notion to listen to Devotchk4, but made myself listen to Johnny Cash instead. To attempt to drown the meloncholy. To lighten my dim apartment. I wish Liz was here.
*
We've essentially been silent these past couple of weeks. Distant. Quiet. Perfunctory. Hi-bye.
Okay, well, I guess this is it.
Take care of yourself.
You, too.
I'll give you a call sometime next week, to see your place and all..
Hug...deep hug...I feel his chest quake a little, and I hug even harder. I look at him, I wipe away his free falling tears...the ones escaping between his fingers, his sleeves. My heart heaves, is heaving, didn't I cry this all away already? I hold him.
(fuck Johnny Cash, Dev0tchka it is)
how is it possible that my chest can ache from my thoughts? .try not to think of him, alone in his new place. how he must be feeling, his heart broken. that first strange lonely night of living on your own for the first time. does he get any sleep tonight?.try not to.
can't think of anything else.
my heart also broken.
make up is streaking down my face, black.
It's a bitch when reality strikes, suddenly, without expectation. Truly, I was foolish to think I was over us being over.
Just when I was thinking I must be some kind of robot, taking it all in stride. I have friends. Have lovers. It's fine. Finito.
I have his keys. What is it about keys that makes an idea reality?
the wall above the couch were his b0b mar1ey print used to be is bare. i need to put something there, rearrange the house, change it all to something new.
it's okay, it'll be okay. if i can just go to bed i can start to put my heart? soul? life? back together in the daylight.
i'm frozen, immobile. parts of me are tired that have nothing to do with sleep.
i love him, the poor dear. would he have been happier if we had never met? if i never told inga she could give him my phone number? if i had never been late to class that one day? if we had never danced to se pas poudatte? if i had been able to secure an internship earlier? if i had disclosed more of myself right away? if i had known myself better, realized what i ought to disclose?
but no, i was just beginning that journey, understanding my sexual self at a much deeper level. i am still beginning that journey. and there are no ifs, there only is.
and right now, there is a deep sadness, a mourning, a painful readjustment, a sense of tragic loss.
no babies, no house, no forever, no beating the odds. no Us. no us.