Seeing me

If only you knew the thoughts I think of you. As we run, your steps behind me, my uncle’s words scroll through my mind. How much you awoke me? No one has affected me as you did. And you have no clue. Newly single. My S. I filed my feelings for you many months ago. But they remain proven by the color of  my cheeks and the light in my eye when I speak of you . . .

And now you are here. And my words locked. My heart longs for us to get to know each other without the dance we once danced. The me you misread. Hopes that rooms will be filled with our laughter, that you will see the me that everyone else sees. I remember your head on my lap, the ocean screaming in through my windows, my fingers tracing letters, S + D on your perfectly scuplted back. A moment has never been so intimate as hours past, and words not said. I loved you in that moment. But it was post our sealed fate.

Now I think about tonight. A run should the rain not recommence. And I think of the girl that shows up at your door. And I wonder is it the girl that people fall for? Or in the process of hiding, masking my once hurt heart, I am someone else . . .

I can only hope that I deliver me. That our friendship grows. My faith is in timing, for ours is not now. I am gone too much and you too newly single. To the exploration of ourselves, in seeing through our friendship if their is an us beyond what never was.

Currents

There is so much noise, it is silent. My mind is blank or is it everywhere? Currents of thoughts against a sea of nothing. Perhaps I am lost in the many days that pass. The sun’s risings each morning are becoming a blur and I, am no longer capturing them.

A return to dormant behaviors. And a necessary selfishness for those behaviors threaten me of drowning. The priority merely keeping afloat, functioning. My thoughts pass between men, my empty bank account, the proper solution, career, foundation, dreams and the few things that actually matter in life’s larger scheme … The issues conflicting and my mind, awash.

For simplicity, I will update “men” as this blog is chapters in and chapters behind.

Thoughts of S are fewer and farther between. I note that my thoughts have lingered longer than we were together. How amazing to be affected so much by somone with whom we were never an us. He told me three weeks ago that he was back with his ex. Glowing as he ran on the treadmill, he felt more connected to her than he has ever felt with anyone. A dagger in my heart. Although, jealousy escapes me. I am happy for him should his words be true. Caught actions since make me question those words, or perhaps, all men.

The impulsive gentlemen weighs on me. His words, “You are not ready for a relationship. You need a friend. I fear that in only wanting to make you happy, I have made you unhappier.” His words are true. The supposed pressure is gone, but with each invite, each told bottle of wine, and cooked meal I refuse, I cringe.
The lingering gentlemen, the love, his disappointment, it all pains me. To go through each day alone and have someone thinking of you every moment, who would give anything to be that companion you long for …

In recent days, words from ghosts pass fill my email box, KidRobot, Matt Damon. My signifcance hurts me.

I feel as I am surrounded by an impenetrable circle. My world is just me. The orbiting worlds breathe me, dream me while I can only breathe thoughts indistinct.

Love and lust. An exploration continues.

I hesitate to write for I wish I could pen a fairytale. This does have the makings, but I pulse the brakes. Create a million stops, hoping I will catch up–but so many miles lie between your emotions and mine.

. . . I am not sure what it is I have learned, but I am learning. Every night he asks me the same thing, and my response remains. “It’s a possibility.”

It is too soon. And that he knows. What if I said yes– that I would marry him. What then? I would wear a ring and he would gain some sense of being able to maintain the happiness that has permeated his life?

Falling in love is a cathexis and if ever, this is one to note.  His words echo mine of S. And I realize that the act of falling in love, the lust, is much about feeling one with the other. Feeling complete, a superior you. He has changed at work and has closed a deal a day since we met. He stands taller. He wakes up earlier. Healthier. He feels like a better person. Effortless. High.. Genuine. This cathexis. This falling in love. I am the most important thing to hm. The feelings so deeply felt they need not be questioned, he wants to marry me, and would tomorrow.
My life is full of my passions and many of which are his, albeit dormant. And I suspect that when you meet someone who brings you closer to your own values, your own desired self, the feeling of love pervades.

I am the most important thing in his life right now and I feel it every moment, so much so. It is painful. This week was spent sharing time with friends, mine and his. We shared an evening with my colleague, T, the one person who is akin to family, the person who I believe my path thus far was intended to meet.

He had just arrived from a long five day love affair, although the lover is in New York, a relationship unfeasible, but it was a weekend of intimacy and passion at its best. We spoke about how difficult it was and the Impulsive Gentleman interjected, “That’s how I feel but there is no water in between. Every night I go to bed and I long for her (me) and she is within a drive’s reach, but I can’t see her.” The pain of which this was said was incredible..

I am continuing the process of getting to know him. I love the time we spend together, but it is not lust, not close. I laugh and find myself at ease. a slowly growing love. With his heels over his head, everyday is me pressing the brakes. Everyday is a mix of suffocating and enjoying. I find it curious. This gradual accumulation of feelings, my antiquated belief was in instantaneous.

His only goal is to make me the happiest woman for the rest of his life. He is patient and lacks frustration. This I admire, but I am mixed with doubt and concern that I don’t crave him enough ….

We will see. For now I unpack the dozen roses I just received,

Missed connections

I saw you as I left the gym last night. You were on the phone and nodded to me and kissed me on the cheek as if we were acquaintances. My intuition sensed a wall and one not of a man trying to create a distance. Perhaps, my ego chose what I sensed, but it seemed as if you care, as if you couldn’t bear to look at me. I told you the story of the ring two nights ago. My honest feelings regarding the new man. For you are a true friend now, right?

When I told you, you thought I was dating someone at the gym. It explained so much . . .  Many of your misperceptions regarding me were corrected. And I think your heart longed. But, then you told me you were looking to switch jobs. And I know that means, bigger and better. Europe, New York, anywhere. PR is no longer the answer for you. You will leave. And you have no ties to anything. And it will remain as such. And I believe we still both care. That we both have lingering feelings. But they will remain, lingering. 

My heart will always remember you. The instant attraction I felt, the respect. But, our paths will not form one. Mere interceptions. Friendships. Business. Nothing else. Of that, I am becoming more sure. ]

I am becoming more drawn to the man who is emotionally available- the Impulsive Gentlemen. I am reevaluating my desired partner. And while my feelings are addictive-like in their nature to you- they will end there.

I found this. I wrote it 2 weeks after we started seeing each other> I woke up at 6am. And I almost left your apartment without a goodbye. I wrote this instead. It echoes that of which was our end . . 

 

 

“I apologize for my departure. I leave and I contemplate shutting the door and never reopening it. For the first time, I do this despite my attraction, to all facets of you, remains unchanged.

And you, you do everything that qualifies as a man pursuing and engaged. Daily phone calls, allowances, and shifts of priorities (with I winning) late night convos, undivided attention 

Perhaps my senses have identified something missing. I just wonder if it from you or I? Perhaps, I don’t feel you like me and am failing to see those eyes that say such. Well, really like. I am not so insecure that I question your actions. I do know you care. But I also know between us lies a great divide. Maybe I am just too out of practice, maybe too vulnerable to play this game in the unknown. Perhaps I need too much assurance. Need to see you fall. Perhpas, I am too used to seeing people fall.
I believe in efforetless. And my mind recalls your eyes in each time I would start to speak. Sitting across the dining room working on our respective computers, with each opening word, however silly, you would turn off the music and just listen. Your eyes piercing me 

I honestly have no idea what I am feeling. Perhaps it is fight or flight. Perhaps I . . . 
I am at a loss. Unzipped. I say too much. Too soon. I want to retract. I suppose I still feel tested.. We are sleeping together now, but deep down I feel I failed. I don’t enjoy this scrutiny and while you are a man I would be proud to call mine and while you are someone who could potentially be the             , I go now.

I close the door and I realize perhaps this is the natural dynamic of man and woman. As much as you r straightforward, not playing games, my subconscious is engaging me to be hunted. For isn’t this the true bait ..

Whatever. X”

To my almost . . .

Almost my better half-

My thoughts are devoted to you right now. I am trying to not think about you, let my thoughts just be. But your eyes and your words are too distracting. I hear the charming words, I see you on top of me as you pinned my arms and tried to tickle me, I see you next to me in the car, staring and touching my beauty marks, I feel the heat of your body as we passed each other in the gym, touched lightly and made everyone take note that perhaps someone had me, I feel your hands on my hips as you taught me balloneta, your fingers on my lips as your attempted to teach my tongue how to roll it’s r’s. The many moments of silence as your listened to me and always digested my words, pausing before you spoke. Truly soaking in the minutia of what I said. My heart hurts with these memories. My heart hurts more with the knowledge of what could have been.

My girlfriend’s words last night on how much she likes you, how great you are. I could only think in anger then that she should have been using past-tense. I felt she was not helping. How attractive you are. What a gentlemen. Yes, I know. I said. Can’t we just focus on how him and I were not right?

I wonder now if that was truly our end. “Take care Smith”. (Substitute Smith for my last name, which is what he called me) I wonder where you are in this moment. Your childhood friend/other business partner is visiting and your itinerary is booked. I imagine you laughing, enjoying. I sit typing, hearing the crashing of the ocean. My lights dim as a second light has met its end in the 24 hours since ours. Perplexed at how I change these lights that are 14 feet above me. I wish our end had a solution—was simply challenging but fixable, like this hard to reach light fixture.

For now, I will sit in darkness, the white saliva of the ocean as the light to this dark. 

 

 

My ocean before the darkness:dusk-on-oceanMy ocean the temptress

Dad’s advice regarding relationships

As I walked to my car, I sat, forehead in my hands, the door ajar. The rearview mirror reflected a glimpse of hollow eyes. Dry. Eyes that longed to be wet. Once again, there were no tears to be found—it seems these days there never are.

As I drove over the bridge I asked for them, pleaded, floodgates open, please. Unanswered. Surrounded only by a desert of emotions.

My father called. The father who has only become a figment of that role in the past year. And I shared, divulged the subconscious torment that was beginning to unveil itself to my conscious. On the surface my emotions remain unscathed, but a teardrop that crawled down my face upon hearing my mother’s name two weeks ago proved that the truth lies elsewhere. My shoulders have also become the physical manifestation of my repressed emotions. The pain so intense I forked over $180 last Wednesday for the only massage I could find at 8pm. The gift of our bodies.

Psychological pain syndromes are actually defense mechanisms designed to cover up sensitive or unresolved emotional issues. The subconscious mind feels that these issues are so threatening to the well being of the individual, that it will do anything to prevent the issues from becoming conscious. This process is called repression. When repression is not enough to guarantee that the painful issues will remain hidden, the subconscious will create psychosomatic symptoms to preoccupy the conscious thoughts of the individual. This conscious focus on the pain is a very effective means of making sure that repressed emotional issues remain well hidden.

This in combination with the sabotaging of my relationship Monday night had me convinced I was a psychological, repressed mess. I must figure out how to fix myself, again. Thoughts of seeing a therapist danced in my mind. I thought of S, his stability and my contrasting instability. The cards dictate that I am destined to be single.

I initially attracted S because I was in a stable period, inspired by a new project of my own making and in love with my life’s ability to grant me to time to enjoy my passions. We matched . . . temporarily. Now, I am complex, messed up, and a saboteur.

But then came my father’s words. Advice, a first. He told me, “It doesn’t matter how messed up you think you are—what matters is that you share who you are with that person. The person then has the ability to meet your needs or not. The right person will want to learn how.” Such a simple truth, one I have known but knowledge and application are not the equivalent. My father’s multiple dictations of the above allowed it to permeate, a calm overcame me. I stopped worrying about whether I fucked up. I emailed S with an explanation. I shared how I work. The outcome was not in my hands or tied to my actions. Relief.

This morning I felt something I never had. As if my father gifted me another leg on which to stand. I noted my solitary life and my limited internal reach of my emotions. I realized how precious speaking is. How vital support can be. It’s not something built in my life and often when I seek, my calls are returned unanswered. But, for now, I am stronger, balanced, and once again, myself. And my shoulders feel a hell of a lot better.

When women close off

Turbines in my mind. The words I should have said, but those for which my lips would not part. I have felt these gates before, but they are years removed.

Now multiple variations of these words dance in my mind. And I wonder if your day will be as plagued as mine—your mind taking pit stops to guess what happened, for I know my distance was without logic.

But baby, I feel involuntarily closed. When I saw you at the gym, the feeling was unrealized. I left high with emotion and attraction, my body and my mind roused with the memory of your magnetism. But your surprise arrival as I stood stark in the shower revealed a shyness, a lost comfort.

We did speak as always. Intimately. We played. We laughed. It was the first time I had seen you in five days. Five days that were devoid of communication—I was left instead consumed by the waves of you penetrating my thoughts, missing you, imagined conversations, retellings to never be told of the daily happenings and the mishaps that are my unconventional life.

Every ounce of me is not trying to punish you or play games. I loathe these gates of mine. I loathe them for I know they are without reason. Although, I feel that I don’t trust you. But those words, too easy to misconstrue. I don’t imagine another woman or ulterior motives. What I don’t trust is us—your feelings regarding us. Am I still being tested? When can I sigh, receive my grade?

I am unzipped. Vulnerable. And raw.

My body in charge. For it cannot pretend. My explanation poor. “I am not feeling physical.” It was beyond my control. My body and my mind no longer one. I know that you care. But my subconscious demands more and my body protects. Needing reassurance, security. I hold on to the infrequent expressions you have gifted me. Your penned name and on date on my wrist as you joked that I am yours. Your retelling of “the girl I am seeing.” Of the investors and your best friend substituting your nickname for me in conversations. I attempt to fill my thoughts with your actions, actions that should provide me with the knowledge that you and I are indeed a us.

My body argues. And I am sorry, cognizant for I truly must be a saboteur. I think of my lips and my desire to speak, to explain. Of my inability. Wishing I knew our unit was secured. Realizing that your love language may be actions, but that I may be one who requires words. And I am at a loss.

With lips that only part releasing an empty breath.