He will not read this. He says he doesn't want to read and I will take him at his word. If he ever changes his mind I will delete this first. This doesn't need to be seen. This is my neurosis, my paranoia, my self-doubt. This is a journal entry-turned-blog that probably should have stayed a journal entry. But, like every worry that niggles relentlessly at my insides, I know I will feel better after I get it out. This is my magma, my lava, my bile.
I am happiest in the moment right before he walks through the door. The anticipation is exhilarating in its possibility, and in comparison reality can only ever pale.
I want more, already. It's never enough, and I can feel myself greedy, ever expanding, with always more space to fill. It may not even be possible to fill it, maybe no one can. Alone I was small and manageable, but then he came and now I am huge, vast, limitless. I try to hide it but I am ever hungrier.
In a fitting bit of irony, now that I think I am maybe, at long last, finally over my ex-boyfriend, I meet a boy who's maybe still in love with his ex-girlfriend. I asked a question last night and got him talking, talking, talking, not looking at me, lost in space, and for a second I thought how easy it would be to be a shrink. "And now you're going to think, 'Oh, here's this guy who's still in love with his ex-girlfriend,'" he said. No, I thought. I didn't until you just said that. But now I do.
"Aww, you'll find someone," he said to me later, jokingly, perhaps, but I recoiled as if he had hit me. I don't know how he meant it, but it hurt like a blow. It's not me, he was saying. Was he saying? I don't know.
That old dose of reality.
James. His name is James, because, of course it is. It feels wrong to call a grown man Jimmy. It feels right to call him James, but so right it also feels wrong. No easy solution. I've tried both, hesitantly, and settled instead on "babe." We've fallen so quickly into the parlance of lovers, though we aren't, not yet. We sleep wrapped around each other like lovers, share morning breath kisses, but he wanted to wait. Another week dictated by biological imperatives, and we are still waiting. Soon? Soon. When? He leaves and I never know when I will see him again, though that is my own insecurity talking.
At first he seemed too good to be true, and maybe he is, but now we have gotten used to each other, and maybe he is bored with me, and we haven't even slept together yet. Except for all the sleeping next to each other. Just enjoy it, I tell myself. Enjoy it while it lasts, for as long as it lasts. That's all you can do. It's all about expectation after all. If you expect it to last forever you will be disappointed. Expect it to end tomorrow, and every day it doesn't is a gift.
I have been alone for so long. I cannot reconcile these two parts of myself. It's all or nothing, and the girlfriend part of me grows, is gluttonous, and consumes the single part of me so that there is nothing left. If anything were to happen I would have to start over again from scratch.
My girlfriend, he called me last night. My friend, he corrected himself. My girlfriend, my friend, my girlfriend, my friend.
I am lost, shrinking, somewhere between the two. I am lost, waiting for someone to find me, to call my name, waiting to be found.
Is this too much? Too honest? Too soon? And so I share it with a thousand strangers on the Internet, and he will never, ever need to know.