You told her that you love her, but you don’t.
This is where it gets more challenging… I can handle the days, where I run from errand to errand, work, class, gym, friends, shopping, cleaning, busily focusing my attention on this and this and this, never letting my mind stray… The days are very easy. When night falls, when I find myself laying in bed late at night, staring at the ceiling… When I tell myself to go to sleep and I can’t because I’m so terrified of the beautiful things I might dream. I can handle nightmares, because they aren’t real. Dreams, though, these dreams are memories of moments past. Golden morning, warm blanket, soft skin memories that I miss too much to relive. The way I wrote in my journal about every night I saw him, recording miniscule details, it’s somewhere between admirable and unfair. I read them and I can’t help but feel along each moment, remember the second that I realized, big smile upon my face, "I have to write this down." I was faithful too, brutally honest and terribly sincere and so utterly and completely intent upon him. This is sweet of me, but terribly unhealthy. Love, lust, general interest, whatever euphemism by which we choose to call it, is not a healthy thing to feel, I am convinced. I tell myself, to convince myself that I am doing what is right, that I am an end in myself, and I should be above dedication, loyalty, infatuation. I don’t believe it though, I can’t be so selfish. I am not a Randian. I am not an objectivist… I get too possessive, and too giving for that.
"His messy hair shirtless chest bright smile in yellow morning light–
That moment is only mine."–April 30, private post.
And, as a disclaimer;
"I imagine myself showing him this in the future and being extremely embarrassed. I’m sorry in advance/retrospect/whatever." –April 24, private post.
"–I think the most important thing in a relationship is that they respect eachother… it’s not so hard.
–Well, I respect you.
–I’m going to be overanalyzing that for a while.
–There are so many different layers of meaning you have no idea. But the third one’s the most important." –April 20, private post.
"On the way there, we discussed some apparently arbitrary stuff because I don’t really remember any of it. I have a feeling it involved Samuel Beckett.. it always does. "–April 16, Private post
"Why do I feel the need to record every second of this? First kiss in the journal, every meeting, every important word, every feeling, focusing on not focusing on the moment because it is THE MOMENT and i need to get passed it so I can think.
But the thing is
if i let it pass
i’ll ruin everything."–April 16, Private post.
I have a feeling that I let the moment pass… And even in spite of all of that, this is the one that hurts;
"He’s terrified of holding on, of getting attached, he won’t let me know that he likes me and he pretends he thinks a lot less than he does to hide it from me. What i can’t handle is being lied to and what i need from him is something he almost certainly can’t give me because he’s terrified of having it, much less giving it…. But when he kisses me… I wish I could explain when he kissed me. The moment outside in front of Doug’s house with the trees breaking up the moonlight, and the darkness pouring out around the moon, and he clutched me close, and we kissed and the breeze was soft and I could feel the grass at my ankles and he was smiling so hard it made the kiss completely awkward… the first time he kissed me he smirked and pulled me close and it was soft and hard and fast and sweet and slow all at once, beyond comprehension and he was smiling so hard… Good God, I love it when he smiles like that."–April 12, Private post.
"Later, i sat on his lap so acutely aware of his hands, his breathing, the heat coming off of his chest.
I look at him and i grow distant and sad because i realize that what I feel isn’t what he feels. because I know i’m making more of this than he probably ever will."– May 23 Private post.
Good Lord, how long have I known that this was going to happen?
"He listens to logic even if he doesn’t like it."–April 12, Private post
Then again, mixed in with obvious lies like that, it’s no wonder I couldn’t tell the truth.
In the end, I tended to believe what I wanted to believe and that just clearly wasn’t close enough to the truth for it to hold sturdy for very long.
Right now, I’m glad I’m not a Bokononist. I saw Rosie today, when I was out shopping, and realized that she must not know about Billy and I… I didn’t feel the need to tell her. I’ll do pretty much anything to avoid an awkward conversation. All of these forces pushing me to think about him, to question it all, between Isaiah and Rosie and finding the scraps of dates we went on and my journal falling open to the page I wrote after our first night out. All signs point to this… Luckily, I’m not a Bokononist, but I can still Foma my way out of this. Coincidences. They were all coincidences.
After that I made dinner for a friend and watched Quills, which was good fun. It did, however, remind me that all touch is not created equal… It just doesn’t feel the same.
Sometimes I can be downright cruel;
Peculater (10:58:23 AM): I really do need to quit being just so darn loveable
butxaxwhimper (10:58:36 AM): or just love me back. one of the two.
Or maybe it’s just honesty.. Either way it hurts like hell, even when I’m not on the receiving end. I really don’t want to make him feel guilty… I want to be honest, and that means telling him what I’m thinking… Not that I’ll be telling him anything for awhile.
I decided (by which I mean, I was talking to Andy and he told me it was a good idea and I knew he was right) that talking to Billy so constantly was probably a bad way to get over him. It would be easier if he was still his aloof, subtle, cryptic self… But he’s treating me differently lately. He told me he cares about me, in those words. He said that I was beautiful, brilliant, a good person… After these months, from that tongue, it sounds a lie. But I believe it anyway, and let it pull him closer to my heart.
When I told him this decision today, I had convinced myself that he wouldn’t care… I felt like I would write to him how much he means to me, and how much more he means every day, and how much it will hurt to not be able to speak to him and he would respond with a casual, off-handed "Oh, well, whatever you think is best." Granted, I didn’t get much more than that in reality, but he does have a flair for understatement… Whatever he felt, I guess the point is that I convinced myself he wouldn’t feel anything and forced myself to break it to him in an atypical aloof and offhanded sort of way that I’m not accustomed to… Which brought about a surprising level of clarity, detachment, and logic. I think I understand now what it’s like to have a penis and no compassion. Oh wait, I’ve repeated myself.
We’ll see if I can muster up the self control to actually get through this… Oftentimes I surprise myself in matters like these.
Today I proved to myself that if I didn’t want to kiss someone, I wouldn’t. This wasn’t something I was certain of.
So, I guess I’m taking applications. Send a self addressed envelope if you believe you meet the following criteria; intellectual, liberal, well acquainted with philosophy, well read, talented, motivated, spazzy, caring, and soft. Preference will be given to those wearing eyeliner, individuals with brown hair and blue eyes, individuals with poetic skill, and those who are not insane. Must be willing to hold me during nightmares, smile at all the right moments, call me beautiful, read my poetry, stroke my hair, and eat my spaghetti. Job description includes; soft kisses, helping me pick out my clothes, removing them when appropriate, looking deep into my eyes, feeling every bit as much as I do, stolen glances over dinner, and being nice to me. Violence and drugs are strictly prohibited. Starting wage includes my attention, possible promotion to my trust, and later my heart. Ex-boyfriends and convicts need not apply.