Everything Matters

Everything Matters . . and everything comes at once.

“It’s the image of a kid . . . a boy let’s say, sitting on the curb, looking around, slightly confused, not sure where he is or even quite who he is. And then an image of a girl, who notices him and stops. She reaches out her hand to him and he takes it. She says nothing, except with that one simple gesture she says the thing that matters most. And that’s – ‘it will be ok.’

And since then, somehow, somehow in many different ways, I have felt inexorably tied to you. Can’t deny that really – I love you even though at the same time you manage to both baffle and frustrate me.

And since then we’ve danced around each other – lovers, friends, other . .

The email continues. My heart skips beat. I laugh out loud. I smile and I also pause. He goes on to speak about a hidden me.

“Since the very beginning I started observing things about you, seeing things, and I suppose the conservationist never let go. I’m sorry – I guess it’s why I could never fully let go even when I pretended I could. I just never knew who I was falling for, so deep down without noticing I setup a natural barrier. And I waited…

I’m not sure exactly what I’ve been waiting for – I suppose a hunch that there was always something left out.”

And how he has danced around its discovery. Waiting to perhaps see and/or to not see something. I can only wonder if he was waiting to be dissuaded. Find out why I possibly wasn’t the one to love . . yet, the feelings, the dreams, and me have never left him—I, a low humming frequency in the life he leads.

I always equated his diatribes, his dissertation-like emails regarding his feelings for me to I being a placard–the justification, the excuse, that he is alone—why he breaks hearts, left and right. I always doubted this love he speaks of. We are so different. But, should it be real, I worry that I will hurt him for this apathetic New York bachelor is a façade for the man I met on that corner so many years ago. A man that still breathes somewhere underneath his hardened exterior. His words today are the first I trust. And perhaps this love he has for me is because I am the only one that knows these breaths?

I don’t know how to respond. I return to New York. To A, to new beginnings of which KidRobot does not yet know. In Puerto Rico, Caballito and I remain close, an entirely different story, one that was cemented by a tragedy . . .

And my life baffles me.

Teterboro waits – Meet A

Spontaneity and simplicity is incredibly sexy.

Wednesday. A perfectly mixed cocktail of excitement, nerves and fear pulsed through my body–a body whose shape has never been better. Perfect, some say.

A body that has yet to become acquainted with ‘A’, but whose mind is intrigued.  I have never met a man like A. 33. Incredibly successful. Laidback. Funny. And doesn’t give anything away. Translation= I really have no idea how he feels. I met him through my bestest friend and ex, P, in New York. Upon meeting A, he suggested I stay with him for a month as nonchalantly as asking the time. Our first three interactions were comfortable and full of smiles. And then I returned to Puerto Rico. 

———

Weeks of loneliness and disconnection and a remembrance of so many of the words that fill this blog, so many of the emotions that are highlighted in a double life. And I realized how much a catalyst a double life is for loneliness and here I was, facing it, yet again. 

My first conversations with ‘A’ after leaving New York taught me that I would not relive the fibers of my past long distance romances.

This realization perhaps bore an apathy. And infrequent messages passed between A and I. I, as guilty, if not more than he.  And then A texted, “I think about you constantly. I miss you.”

Tuesday, he bought me a ticket . . . so we could have dinner Wednesday before he left for Europe. $700 for a couple of hours. Practical, no? But oh how I love.

Perhaps the scenario should conjure images of dinner at Per Se. Dressed to the nines, Louboutins, Him, a suit and tie. My long hair cascading perfectly. But no . .

 

I arrived. To his apartment alone. Another houseguest. A college friend. A, the buddy and I, in my white tank, jeans, and leather Varvatos, go to a low-key dinner. We laugh, we enjoy–as if this is how it has always been. And I would have it no other way.

Sure, I long for his thoughts. I want him to tell me he is crazy about me. Give something away. Barely.

He does however, recant the words of his text and how great it is to think about me, how wonderful to anticipate. We will give “us” a go. I can fly every week. Wednesday through Friday so we can get to know each other–date. And those five minutes were as much as I received.

His flight the next morning seemed to magically not exist. The hours passed and his trip to the office and the plans I made, seemed to fade away. At 2pm he finally left. At 5pm, he was headed home to pack for his flight that evening. I returned at 7pm. TV, Pizza and the buddy. Hours melted into the evening. Sleep took me. And the next morning, A was still there. By my side. Hesitant to leave.  No words were given.

And I can only wonder did A and the private jet wait 36 hours because of me. . . .

Return

A blue dot in my inbox. Next to the comments for a blog of which my postings have been nonexistent. The words I read hit me. They awaken a feeling that I do not encounter everyday. A feeling that I am not sure if I have had since reading past comments, and I wonder if I chase the right motivation—if my current dreams offer such power. And I thank my readers for reining my return.

And frankly I am unsure where to start. Perhaps, I should post the snippets I wrote yet failed to post over the past month. The reason I started this blog, a double life, flirts with me, yet again.

But first, for the emotions that flood me now.

Thank you Katieleigh.