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.
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.