“The opposite of love’s indifference.”
I don’t know if you miss me, but I miss you. I wish we could eat frozen pizza and read web comics and watch “Girls” together, but we can’t. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to sort out just why it is that the very idea of calling you makes my heart race and my mood deteriorate. Here’s what I have so far:
1. You make me sad.
2. You’ve made me feel insignificant time and time again – through your patronizing compliments, dead stare, innumerable references to exes, and various other words meant to keep me at arm’s length. I don’t trust you not to hurt me in this way again and again and again.
3. Seeing you with someone else would kill me. How can we be friends if I can’t be happy for you?
4. For reasons I can’t explain (I don’t feel like I ought to be angry, when you have done nothing explicitly wrong), I want to injure you. Although I might manage to refrain from moving my fist through the perpendicular plate of your ethmoid, I don’t trust myself not to say cruel words out of spite and ruin any chance of future friendship we might have.
5. Your companionship requires a great deal of time, emotional energy, and martyrdom. It wasn’t healthy for me before and it sure isn’t going to be healthy now. I have an out. I don’t have to give up any more of myself.
“Yellow is nature’s code for completely safe,” advises big brother Andrew, regarding meter-long sea snake.
“It’s the tragedy of loving, you can’t love anything more than something you miss.”
– Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Three days of long, solo drives – they’re starting to get to me. The audiobooks, the motel rooms, interacting only with gas station staff and Suri – I feel lonely and homesick. I want to fly right back home or, at least, call/text/email/Facebook and tell him how much I miss him. I am unsure whether I am supposed to, however. Realistically, I suspect I will never actually see him again. Is this the point in which we are supposed to break off contact and move on? Has he already?
Thank goodness I will finally make it to Houston tomorrow. I so want to get on to getting on with my new life.
I remember telling him that I loved him in the wee hours of the morning.
“Huh?” he said.
“Nothing,” I said.
What I don’t remember is whether this really happened or whether it was a dream. What I don’t know is whether I wish to have said it and whether I mean it. Is it possible to love someone, but not need him?
He asked me to spend my life with him, but first to spend the night with him.
Although I meant it when I forgave you for your words Saturday, I feel a need to express how and why they so deeply affected me. (I couldn’t do so at the time.) I’ve been thinking about it all a good deal since and there are some things I need to get off my chest. Otherwise, I fear I will become resentful.
Let me say first that I don’t deny being overly sensitive – I am. Just the same, I think you, too, would be hurt if I made disparaging remarks about your dick or your sexuality. (I would never even think to make such “below-the-belt” attacks.) What hurt me more than the damage to my self-confidence was seeing that you could be so careless with my emotions and my trust. I considered walking out of your apartment right then and was then furious at myself for not doing just that. I was angry about my having allowed someone close to me in spite of my having to make of him repeated requests to be spoken to with basic respect and kindness.
I am not angry now, nor am I trying to make you feel bad. Having said what I need to, I won’t bring this matter up again. The fact is that I like you a lot and I want to be able to continue spending time with you.