how to deal with boys – High functioning robotics

The boy I like. The Boy that occupies my thoughts asked a few weeks ago if I was a “high functioning robot” — the meaning initially eluded me. It wasn’t until I relayed the comment to a girl friend that it became clear. Her response, “you have an ability to compartmentalize everything.” While I refrained from paining her with the very female analysis of a boy’s words, the analysis was evident. For the primary difference between us and robots are emotion, right?

So emotionless me sits here, full of emotion. He’s traveling. No words in days. I see him on emails. I see him online. I asked a simple question, “when do you return?” to no response.

And I hurt. And he hasn’t the slightest clue.

The idiocy of us has pained me from the beginning. The same story lives within these pages. Future partners, not. But we pursue and decide to dance.

It started as the beautiful pain of vulnerability. The typical tango of misperceptions ensued. Accusations that made my emotions run and my mind stay. He is after all a perfect summer cocktail, a complex concoction and a down ecstasy pillow in one. Refreshing, alien brilliant, and mind-blowing.

xx emotionless me

The difference is not in lack of emotion, but my own perception of what one deserves to know. I believe there is no greater gift than giving your emotions and this I hold close. A boy who occupies thoughts does not deserve this. And this is how I operate and seemingly float.

The other side of the coin is one of bravery. A beautiful poem I read tonight about vulnerability. “there is nothing, nothing so brave, as to allow yourself complete vulnerability”- tyler knott gregson So my strength is also my failing . . . it always is.

We’ve run our course

Letting go of something I never grabbed onto. He was handsome, his lust found me, engulfed me. The moments together were light. Happy. And I, physically awakened. I kept seeking. Where was he. So simple. An opposing mirror to my complexity. The best me was suffocating. But my inner dialogues kept pressing. Don’t throw someone away due to an unhappiness with myself. Seeking someone to challenge me, bring out the best in me, seemed as if it was a problem I wouldn’t have if I was together, whole. A problem best dealt with myself.

So with the new year, I communicated. Me, communicating. Imagine that. I felt that there must be someone more interesting underneath the fine specimen of a human being. I wanted more. Yes. But I said what. After all, he had fallen, supposedly. A light request to someone who wanted an us.

But tides change. And he felt defeated. The month to follow, I was dealt my own recipe. Games I say. Games he said he didn’t play. “Straightforward, I am.”  Dense, I retorted. Nights of pain. Of hurt. Against a current of need. Something I rarely seek. This boy who “liked” me so failed to be the simplest of friends. Enough cuts.

So I tried. Multiple choice. A, B, or C. Your words don’t meet your actions. So either your feelings have changed or this sabotage will not be well received. A. we try and make this work. B. we enjoy each other casually or C. we part ways. Not C was the only answer I ever received. And the mention of defeat. Continued games. Continued stabs.

And me, somehow caring enough to communicate again. Imagine that. A request for him to tell me how he feels. A warning that my emotions were on their last leg (pinky toe rather) and that I have an uncanny ability to take my feelings and put them in boxes. Tied with a pretty bow. Of apathy. Of indifference. Emotional doom to never be reopen.

“I get it.” The three words I received. Tonight was worse. Another stab. And I told him, we’ve run our course. He says, “I don’t want to weigh on you.” And my innards screamed. On the mat at the gym. A diatribe of fuck you’s to a phone that died after his response.

A sign that a response is not due. But oh how I just want to say fuck you. Send him the definition of like, falling in love, and an us. I hate him so. and back to the resurfaced “I hate the words I love you.” the i love you, but.

but of course . . .

I transition back to New York, I open doors and prove my value, perhaps, just to say goodbye with a I don’t need you, you need me. Time will tell.  This is my professional life at the moment.

My love life is becoming but a joke. A client asked me yesterday, I am sure you had many valentine’s. And I could only laugh and decline comment.
It is only 11 this morning and four correspondences with hearts pointed in my direction . .

From Jonas:

“I  miss your company, talking to you, going somewhere with you, being in bed with you. You really are my muse, you inspire me.”

From my ex:

Quoted, Una Palabra

“If one day you need me, I will be nothing
And at the same time I will be everything
Because in your eyes are my wings
And the shore where I drown,
Because in your eyes are my wings
And the shore where I drown”

A.

Is in Australia. He looks for moments, hidden minutes, updates me on itinerary. The past two weeks have brought us together. Have connected us. I think we may be dating. It offers me highs and butterflies. But, I am all too aware, that relatively, he offers me nothing. When one is used to scraps, an offered bite, is blessed . . Keep perspective. We will see. But, I am happy . . .

I think he is finally falling for me, my darling.

But of course, a stolen kiss from a new player, Genius, and I realize the ironic possibility of hurting A. who was so emotionally caught off.

And oh, there’s more, I am supposed to have dinner with another . . .

This movie I am in . .

My life has been a movie. Moments, experiences in months past seem but a dream. I feel as if I am a voyeur looking back at them. I don’t believe it was me actually breathing within them.

And i sit now. Yesterday’s departure of someone leaves my heart heavy. My hand extends to reach for his, to hold his in mine. Now I would grasp so tight, that I wouldn’t be without, that he couldn’t have left and said goodbye.

My steps are now two. The first time in a month since our meeting. He is halfway around the world now. Seemingly unreachable and almost unimaginable. Without the photos, it would be but a dream. I miss him.

Present

My toes immersed in sand, I milk these moments and particularly this one for I travel to New York tomorrow. A heart torn. A desire to be both here and there. I want to clone myself. I relish this desire. The affirmation that I am living life, that I am present. Preferred to a depression where I long to not exist.

Memories play in my mind as I soak up the sun. My tanned body in an ocean of cold in the trip that awaits me. His words. My pleasure. My contentment with our friendship. A recollection of the jolt that reverberated through my limbs as our sweaty arms momentarily touched. His hand on my back as he motioned me to change directions.

Our run last night as much of the world prepared to retire.

The streets were ours. We ran side by side. As friends. Speaking of relationships. His realizations that his new ex was justified in her actions. I fought my desire to disagree. I relish his disappointment at my leaving and I wish I weren’t. I fear that a new friend will replace our frequency in my abscence. But I don’t allow that fear to paralyze or concern me. I smile. My S.

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.

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.