There will be no dance

I ended it Friday night.

Everything I had was what I wanted, but for some reason my emotions were not in accord. Much like my growing departure from New York, sometimes what your mind tells you is irrelevant. My mind tells me New York is more my home than Puerto Rico. It tells me to stay connected, to return. It tells me I will never want to settle in Puerto Rico. Yet, my soul relearned smiling in Puerto Rico. My heart feels more at home daily. My core breathes. And with that, I know New York is not where I am meant to be.

He started kissing me. I kissed him back. Restrained. He kissed me there, his eyes watching me. I pulled him up and kissed him. I said, let’s go to bed. I couldn’t engage. I welcomed a bed where a few kisses could be followed by sleep. An escape from the intimacy of which I was unable. In bed, he kissed me. I wasn’t there.

“What’s wrong? You are distant,” he said. My lip moved, yet no words formed. “If you just want to be friends, that’s okay with me,” he ended the silence. Pain. Instantly. And it hit me. The emotions. Unseen tears as I turned in fetal position, away, to the mirror, the mirror where we would watch our dances. The mirror that came to life as we would go turn on the light and stare. 

His statement cemented that he didn’t care, that my emotions far exceeded his. I was done. I said so. He justified his earlier statement. It didn’t mean that he doesn’t care. Irrelevant. The pain of which I felt was the discrepancy between how much we care. Goodbye companion.

“We need to go to the living room so I can see your face,” he was refusing to hear my words. I suppose words can lie, faces cannot. We sat on the couch. And I tried to explain what myself didn’t know, that I didn’t want a commitment, that I was like him, yet it wasn’t working. And he said,

I told you from the beginning. I don’t have anything to give. But, it’s not about the sex. I care about you. We talk for hours. I miss you. I like you.

Some statement about how rare, our sexual chemistry. 

 I don’t want to hurt you though. I understand. You will always be my friend. We can still do dinner, and talk, and . . .

What changed though? I don’t understand . . . 

“i just can’t do this.”

Ok.

Come. Let’s just go to bed. 

Sleep.

“I have to go. I can’t. Goodbye.”

 And then his eyes lowered. His voice wavered. Could he possibly cry? He couldn’t look at me. I went to kiss him. It wasn’t returned. I made a joke. And I turned from the couch. I never looked back.

I left Caballio’s. I ended it. Without knowing why. There would never be another dance. Goodbye mi companero. 

Match me and I will role-play

After spinning class and the gym, I felt chemically rebalanced. Calm. Content. Tired. Not wanting to meet Jack, The Journalist, Martin or Man out for drinks, i went home with thoughts of working, but decided to mentally turn off instead. I did, however take a call from Caballito. Minutes before the call, as I walked the empty, rat-infested street that I live on in Manhattan, my saboteur thoughts returned. My internal dialogue, the stubborn child, spoke-“i am not going to bring stockings, the appropriate garters, and outfit to PR to fulfill Caballito’s voiced fantasy.” 

I do this. I pull. I push. I distance. I turn off. Without a cause or wrongdoing. Perhaps, I turn off when a legitimate cause to do so seems imminent or worse, when the man fails to voice and/or reaffirm my role. This reminds me of “games” and why we, both male and female, should never play them. Perhaps, a man may choose to stay distant, not attached, protect himself. If this man is with attainingme, he may just be forfeiting his role playing fantasy coming to fruition . . . 

stockings_3

Caballito unknowningly salvaged his fantasy. His phone call was sweet. The first time we truly spoke since I left PR. I miss his voice. I can hear in his voice that he misses me. He was concerned with my schedule, empathetic of my feelings of loneliness here. Amazing. Most men would attempt to give me advice, “go out and see everyone, etc, etc.” He understands me. I can’t wait to see him. He truly likes hanging out with me. Simple. I don’t need more. I just need that. 

Females are complicated. It’s not that i needed Caballito to commit and/or profess a desire to be my boyfriend. As I previously wrote, I don’t want him to be my boyfriend. However, I need to have some “present” security in the relationship that we have, even if it’s a companionship or a FWB. Perhaps, I don’t speak for all women, but my moments with him left me glowing. The happiness I felt is something that tore open a vulnerability, one that I wanted to run from if it wasn’t matched. He matched it tonight. It didn’t require much. Our situations may change and that is fine, an abrupt disruption I welcome. Until then, match me Caballito, I have the garters packed.

No feelings for Person > Person has feelings for you > Person around = Resentment?

I have quite a bit of updating to do, but a quick note. 

I am back in New York. Missing Caballito. Still frustrated at my initial sabotaging of our perfection. I realize that if he were to ask me to be my boyfriend, I would object. I don’t actually want anything more than what we have, aside from perhaps some security, an antidote to my vulnerability. This vulnerability is causing me to want to act up, react, demand, and need. 

I saw KidRobot for the first time since May. More to come on KidRobot. I also saw the Journalist. The companion I left behind in New York a month ago. A companion that is emotionally available and as such, I didn’t allow as close as Caballito (physically). Of course, we only want the men that could hurt us. I spent many moments with the Journalist. Stuck him on a horse. Drove him past pumpkins. Departures from the typical daily life of a New Yorker. Perfect “dates” although in my mind, they were just “days.”

I saw him Friday, my first full day back. And I couldn’t find the feeling of connection I had previously felt. Perhaps, because he is a large contrast to the energy, power, and strength I see in Caballito? Everything from his shoes to his purchase of gloves made me realize the difference of our worlds. Unimportant, yes . . but the little things were starting to bug me . . 

AND when the little things start to bug you, I feel everything thereafter is an inevitable ride downhill (without brakes) . . 

Is it just me or when you lose feelings or realize you have none, do you start to resent very small insignificant things?

 I realized that I may have been too shocked by getting acclimated to New York again and clouded in my own feelings of longing for Caballito and my lack of “legs” here, to enjoy the Journalist on Friday. So, last night, the Journalist came over. It was nice and comfortable, but when I realized he was spending the night, I wanted to inch away. Eject him from my bed. He somewhat smelled. He was too skinny. He is nice, but just nice. I turned off the light and he kissed me. I kissed back with tight lips. And then turned. 

I slept. I woke up early and there is no better source of caffeine than wanting to escape a situation in your own bed. . . . I miss you Caballito.