who decides where the train tracks lay?

Therapist wants to see me twice next week. she says "this time of year," or "this week" or something. This time last year I was in Eugene, OR with ex-otter. There was no Halloween last year. There was a bar and me silently watching as ex-otter and his cousin screamed at the sky. His cousin threw up by the railroad tracks. I got high for the first time that night. Or was it the night before? Details fade, but the general memory does not.
I loved Eugene. We went to the hot springs in the mountain and sat naked in the water. I'd never done that before. He has pictures of me, of all of us individually, sitting naked at the bottom of a waterfall. I wonder what he did with all those pictures. I wonder if he's thinking about me. I wonder if he hates me the way that I hate him. I don't think so. He has no reason.

I don't know where to go with this melancholy. Finally told my therapist that I've been suicidal for the past couple weeks. She asked if I needed to go to the hospital. No. I can keep myself safe.
I told her that I think my "relationship" with Pants may not have long-term potential because he's allergic to cats. She said, "Luca comes first." And I said, "Yes. She is always there for me. She isn't moody. She forgives me instantly. She loves me. She's affectionate with me. She has never emotionally hurt me. I love her." I said I want a monogamous relationship. I don't want to tell Pants that because he might stop seeing me. She said maybe seeing him could be good for me, because I am not in control. I might learn something.

I think I am clinging still to old habits, old ideas, old me. How do I let go?
What if I fall in love?

What if he falls in love with me?

"don't know if I can make it through another winter in this town"

Pants said, "you still love this guy.
"I mean you're still in love with him."
And I get confused and say, "I don't stop loving anyone." I pause, unsure how to continue. "I mean, he isn't who he used to be."
Pants starts to say something. "You're in love with the idea-"
"No. I don't know who he is now."

I love who he was, at some point.
A year ago today I was at his parents' house with him, powerless. Looking up flight times and prices so he and I could go to Eugene OR and find out what happened to his dead brother. Put things in order. You know, like trying to put back together a glass you just shattered.
Yeah. I miss him. Yeah, I still love him. I probably am still in love with him. I never know how to properly articulate the kind of pain I've discovered because of this situation. Suck the yolk from an egg and what's left is my chest.

The nights are the hardest.
I don't want to go home.
I can't bear to be alone.

And yet I remain.

caring trumps suicide

chest pains; a new one. there's beard burn on my chest below the hollow part that aches. it's from Pants. he rubs my heart until I moan.
I cried in the shower again today. it's been a year since dru died. tomorrow it will be a year since I got the text from ex-otter saying, "my brother is dead."
I don't know what I feel right now. pain, and numbness. confusion. sorrow. regret. anger. helplessness. definitely helpless.
I want to sob but I can't. even laying in the shower, letting the water fill the bottom of the bathtub, thinking again about dying... it was hard to cry.
I want someone to hold me.
I can't do this alone.

I have been feeling remorse. I have been thinking a lot about my ex-husband. I have been wishing I'd been kinder. I have been thinking, "right person, wrong time." I am sensing a theme.
I tried to explain to Pants that you can't just have all the right elements and expect things to work. there must be an order to it. I don't think I explained it very well.
I've been painting again.
I miss ex-otter. I miss ex-husband. I miss von. I feel so out of control right now. Again, a passenger in my own life. a slave to past decisions.
"we are all products of our environment." how many times have I said that lately?

public problems today are the result of public policy yesterday. that's what my policy analysis professor taught us. but that is life too. the decisions we make today to "fix" problems will create our future problems. right? unless you deal with the root of things. What is my root?
where am I growing?

ache in my chest, rash just below from Pant's scruff as he labored to fill the space that was left behind one year ago.
"it never stops."
"it always hurts."

no wonder I think so much about dying.

if I'm not a yo-yo, why do I keep coming back?

If I were the one outside of this situation, I would be aghast at my behavior.
On again, off again, like a jacket on a spring day. Always on the verge of comfortable, but can't quite reach it. Always almost ready. Then I get pushed back. I say some wise thing, and then stop talking. Two days later, he comes back.

And I say, "ok."

Is this my self-esteem talking? Is this my doubt? My what-if function kicked into overdrive?
Dear Self, what the fuck are you doing? Let me just weight out some of this guy's negatives:
anti-social. seriously anti-social. good luck with going anywhere, ever.
non-communicative. let's just forget that communication is one of the most important things to you. Ever.
needlessly mysterious. yeah, he just won't tell you things. no reason. like his age. he rarely answers questions directly and when he does it's usually with absolutely no elaboration. unless he feels like just launching into a story unbidden.
no PDAs. ok, you don't really like being affectionate in public either, but come on! holding hands. cuddles. etc. he means no touching at all, it seems. What are you, a secret?
everything is on his terms. communication, hang out, everything. his house, his time, his rules.
allergic to cats. let's pretend that all this other shit gets worked out (compromises, patience, etc). He's still allergic to Luca. doesn't that mean this relationship has no long-term potential? Luca has saved you so many times. She loves you and loves to show it.
can't come to your house. he'll die. awesome. that means you get to be the one always going across town. great.
"sorry babe, I won't be the thing you want." won't.
moody. no clarification needed.

how about good things?
comics
vegan
bicycles: riding them, fixing them, etc.
no car
incredibly intelligent
no drinking, smoking, or drug use
funny
fucking weird
can be very sweet
honest?
damaged. someone to relate to.

I don't know what this means. Gonna see him tonight for the first time in a week.
I guess we'll figure it out then.

never will; if never is

dear Pants,
This is the letter I would send if I thought it would make any difference.
I don't think how I acted last night is the reason you're saying goodbye. I think I am, however. Not because of anything I've done, but because of how you could feel about me. You want to be around me. You want me. But you want to be able to close me off in between times. I don't do that. However, you never gave me the chance to understand.
If we had talked, you would have realized how willing I am to compromise. You, on the other hand, are completely unwilling. Maybe this is how I've seemed to people in the past. However, I am not ready yet to let you go. I had a taste of us and found it delicious. We aren't done with each other. There is so much more to learn.
I think I'll take six steps back and gradually work towards you again. I think if I wait a week without words, wait for you to settle in, then maybe you'd be more receptive to me.
I want you. You need me. You don't want that. You like me, more than you want to right now. Or maybe ever.

gradual observation

There are times when I am so used to being treated poorly that it comes as a surprise when people are immediately and genuinely nice to me. When I am looked at as a person instead of an oddity, I am not entirely sure how to respond. It always feels so good.
"What's your major?" "Social work." "HA! Really!" What is that supposed to mean?
I am getting so used to people I'm attracted to being uninterested that when there's finally a mutual attraction, I have no idea what to do. I come on too strong. Well, I come on too strong for them. I have started feeling like I'm doing something wrong. I am wrong. I am not right. I am incorrect. I have started to believe that I am the problem. The error is within me.
I don't like feeling this way.

what, me?

I wait for you. I make this more dramatic than it needs to be. If we weren't brought up on movies and television, would our relationships be more honest? Would you communicate? Would I calm down?
This has always been my problem, right? I get so excited about people that it overwhelms and pushes them away. I want to apologize constantly; but why say sorry for who I am? I cannot be what I am not. Why pretend to be someone else?

I don't know what to do with this. I've said that so many times before. What do I do, what do I do? Be me. Live. Go on. Don't worry. Remember the things in life that are constant. Embrace the known.
I want to relax. I don't know how. I want to be patient. I don't know how. I am riding solo on this roller coaster and there's no one to put on the brakes.
I don't know how to stop.
And I can't find anyone who will ride with me.

these are my shoes; those are your shoes

I don't know how I look when I can't see me. I don't know what my face does, how my body moves. It is this thing that I am so intimately entwined with; yet have no idea how I actually appear.
And this is the big joke about life. We can only ever be ourselves and not know what that means to other people. We can only ever see out of our own eyes. We will never know what we look like when no one's watching. We will never know the extent of our own beauty.

I tell him that he's beautiful. He denies it. I say, "an opinion can't be wrong. You are beautiful to me." He put his head on my shoulder, on my chest, in my lap. He touched me. For the first time since we started hanging out, we didn't have sex that night. We held each other through the night. I was drawn to his warmth. I pulled the blanket over my head to keep away the cold. I woke up to his twitching and stroked his back. As long as I was touching him, he was still. When I tried to turn away, he shook again.
I did not tell him this.
I read a story once where the narrator spoke of peeling the layers of skin off someone; like an onion. The person inside came out new and soft and vulnerable. It was a painful process, releasing the person from their cage of flesh. But this is what I want to do to him. I want to peel aside the layers and find out who he is underneath. I want to break the curse. I want to love him.
And I want him to love me in return.

When he calls me "sweetheart," "baby," "babe" or shortens my name, it makes my heart jump and my lungs constrict.
I am not sure what to do with this. Equal parts say, "tell him" and "you'll frighten him." I hate these games. I think he could be very bad for me. I think he could be very good for me. I think I could learn patience.

Sometimes it feels like I'm making myself worry just because I'm so used to it.
I want to let it go.

maybe baby, what you need could be me

Heart is going over-time. Feels like it's gonna jam out of my chest; haven't really felt this way since dru died and ex-otter left me. so consistent. so frightening.
I haven't slept enough. Can't sleep beside pants, no matter how hard I try. I just wake up and wake up and wake up and wake up. Now my body is shutting down and my heart's trying to keep it functioning. Now I gotta suit up and ride in the frigid rain and make it beat harder. What if I pass out? What if I don't make it?
This is stupid. I miss pants. I want to go over to his house. I don't want to go home; I don't want to go to dinner. I just want to lay down with him and read comics. I want to know what it's like to be around him when it's not a booty call and there is no crisis.
I want to know what it's going to be like to date him. If that's what I'm doing. I think that's what we're doing.
He said that he liked me. He compared my style to exes of his. What is my style? Dyke? "Whenever I see an attractive girl and find out she isn't a lesbian, I think 'what a loss.'" I mean, that's another woman that has to deal with men.
I think I worry out of habit. Inside, I'm not so concerned. If I could just get enough sleep; if I could sleep soundly beside him; if he could come over to my house; things would be different.
If that, then this.
It doesn't matter. What I have is what I have and I'll take what I can get. I said, "I don't trust anything easy. If things fall too easily into place, I just wait for them to fall apart." I make my life into trial and error. I make my life into hardships. I want to work for everything; yet I want it all just handed to me.
I want everything with reciprocation.

Every time I see him, it's a compliment.

my repetition is your salvation; your salvation aches

Melancholy; fills up the spaces in between.
the spaces in between
the places in between
and all the spots you don't fill up,
the places in between.

melancholy; sleeplessness; hunger; desire. I don't know where you fit in. I don't know who I am.
the places in between right now, make me watertight and numb. fill me in with india ink. let's cut out the negative space.
you make comments that make things obvious. don't act like you don't know. you wanted me to figure it out; now all I smell is you.
these moments from here to there, when you are home and so am I. but I know where I am. where are you? what are you? you are everything you act like you aren't. you are things that you cannot hide from me. I feel the emptiness and pain. I feel everything.
you pushed yourself into my arms and I could feel you seep into my chest. the empty place over my breastbone. you filled up all those cracks. will you now freeze and burst my heart?
the places in between become everything. my solidness turned into negative space. turn the picture over. what do you see now?
no medication, no love, no heart, no hope. you have self-destructed and no one can save you. you expect it though. who would save you?
the places in between us. the people in between. who would kiss you? who would fuck you? who would love you, without me?
the people in between us. the people in between.
repetition
I miss the way you smell. I miss the way your mouth tastes. I want to feel your body. I want you in my arms. I want you to kiss my head. I want your hands against my face. your tongue and fingers and legs and feet.
I want to watch you fall apart.

the blindfolded leading the bound

I can see my feet, but I don't know where I'm standing.
Last night, Pants broke down and I got to see him as human. He asked me to stay over. He called me "baby" and "lover." Things got personal.

So what the fuck do I do now?

I don't know what this means. Was last night a fluke? Is he going to be locked again? I feel unconcerned and still, but also terrified. I have other things I need to address. School and work and friendships. Why get hung up on this?
Everything is still on his terms, even when he hands me control.
Everything hinges on his feelings; his actions; his desires.
I wish this bothered me more. Honestly? Right now I'm really enjoying the uncertainty.

This is new.

open hands, closed eyes

Tonight when I left, Pants said, "Thanks for coming over. Ride safe." But he sounded sincere. I think he cares. He told me a lot of things tonight. Things I didn't ask to know. I watched him stare at the ceiling as he talked, laying on his back in the bed. I curled beside him with my toes on his leg, my eyes tracing his profile.
When we went into the kitchen, he said he doesn't hate people. He doesn't let them in. He won't get close to them. "I understand." I mean, I do. "For some reason, I trust you." I had told him about dru. I've told other people about dru. But with Pants, I don't know. I want to open up my ribcage and let him inside.
That's not what he wants, though. I can feel something else about him. He wants me. I don't know why he talks to me after we fuck. I don't know why we have these moments. I don't know where this is going. I thought I was done with him.
But no one fits inside me the way that he does.
No one lets me dominate like he does; no one can equally dominate me. He lets me feel strong. He is wild. He is open. He is animalistic in a way that I've desired but had not met. I don't know what to do with this.
Oh.
I didn't mention his eyes. They frighten yet entrance me. His pupils are always huge. They once flashed red when we were wrestling and it was terrifying. The iris is blue, but not blue-grey like my eyes. Not pale blue or dark blue. More like the blue of a sapphire. Pure, translucent, deep. They are so beautiful. Simultaneously, I am scared to look too closely. He doesn't guard himself as well when we have sex. I don't know what I'll see then.
I like to catch him watching me.
"I don't like to think about things."
Well. I do.

how can I do this alone?

I have been crying in the shower.

I turn the water on hot and lay down in the tub. I sob, fetal position. Or I sit up with my arms wrapped around my legs and I rest my head on my knees. Sometimes I lay on my back and let the water massage my torso. But crying; always crying. Or that thing between sobs, when you can't catch your breath. It's like hiccuping backwards.
I keep waiting for the pressure in my breastbone to abate. It doesn't. It feels like there's a latch that needs to be lifted but I can't find it. I am so fucking sad and I have no idea what to do about it. When I am breaking down in the shower, I start making my suicide plans. I think "it is possible to drown in an inch of water." I wonder if I could keep my head there. I wonder if I could let my lungs fill. I wonder if I'd find some desire to live, if I attempted suicide again. I wonder if that's an addiction people have. Consecutive attempted suicides as a rush; as a way to feel alive. Try to die so you want to live.
I don't do it, though. I don't do it because I wouldn't want my roommate to find me. I don't want to hurt her. That is what's keeping me from dying right now. The thought of the pain it would cause my roommate. I don't worry about my family or my friends. I think about my roommate.
I think about jumping off the Point Street bridge. I consider the logistics. I wonder what pills I have that I could use to overdose. I wouldn't want to do THAT unless it killed me. I tried that avenue before and it was unpleasant to shit out charcoal for a week.
I can't slit my wrists. I wouldn't be strong enough. I hate the sight of blood. And I know I wouldn't cut deep enough.
Don't want to hang myself. Then someone would have to cut me down. And where would I do it anyway? Not the apartment. Maybe an abandoned building? It would be a while before anyone found me. I would be ok with that.
There are household items that are poisonous. That would be ok. I have thought about throwing myself off overpasses, but I wouldn't want to take people with me when I die. In my utter selfishness, I can still consider others. Does that mean there is hope for me?

I'm not going to kill myself. I'm getting to the point where every day that I survive is a small victory for me. I need that, because right now I feel like a failure in my own life. I feel like everything I do could be done in a better way. I feel stupid, and slow; like I'm missing something that everyone else can see. I am lonely. I am frightened. I feel used.
That's why I was crying tonight. I have been letting people use me. I let them use my body so I can feel close to someone for a while. I enjoy it too, but in the end they don't want me. They want my body.
I can't differentiate between the two so easily. A person is inseparable from their body. Right?

What is it about me that drives people away?

this time, this year

Today my therapist looked back in her notes to find out what went on with me this time last year. After several years of listening to me, she knows my patterns. She knows this is ten years since my suicide attempt and almost a year since AJ died. She remembered; she asked. I wonder if any one else I know would make those connections. I wonder if anyone can care independent of my reminders.
These are the things I frequently wonder. Who will love me? Who can care? Ex-husband was the only one who could remember these things. Four years! It still gets me sad when I talk about it. I feel like I failed.

Winter is coming. I am trying to cleanse my life of the emotional detritus I've accumulated this year. Much of it is tied up in people; people like Con and gij and wizard and vew and Pants. People that pretend to be there, then disappear. I am not a convenience. I am not here to use and then forget.
The rejections build upon themselves like calcium deposits. The time passes; pressure mounts. Where is the pearl in the center of all this? When I finally open my shell, will there be anything to show for all this irritation?

I am so tired. I want to relax. "Why don't you do something like you did last winter? You really enjoyed working on the farm." I say yes, but no. Maybe a new place. Somewhere warm, but not where I wanted to die. Somewhere without memory.
I have enough now; no need to revisit.

let what be?

The Beard was everything I wanted. You know. On paper.
Leo, vegan, bicyclist, bearded, 29, hairy, fit, sarcastic but not scathing, adventurous. We'd both been to an industrial part of China and felt similarly negative about it (unlike Wizard, who had been to a residential area and loved it). We met online, agreed to meet. We chatted, then I went to work. I was buzzing. He was great. He loved cats, had an awesome apartment with 2 other people, and seemed gentle and grounded. And he was honest, so honest.
That evening he sent me a text saying he was restless and wanted to get a beer. Lucky me, I was already in a bar and had wanted to invite him but (for once) didn't want to seem too forward. He came. We talked. It was awesome.
He walked me home and I invited him in to meet my cat. We played with her. There was a little flirty stuff going on. We started cuddling, then making out, then grinding. He picked me up and I wrapped my feet around his sexy bicyclist calves and watched us in the mirror. I couldn't believe this was happening. He was fantastic.
We said sweet things to each other. I walked him out. "You're exciting," I told him. "You are too," he replied. Smile. "When can I see you again?" I asked shyly, again trying to not be forward. "Definitely before Saturday." It was Wednesday.
Friday came. I had been sending him some texts in the meantime and he responded. We met for burritos on Friday. Then we went to a puppet show. He was completely different than previously. It was as though someone had turned a switch and now I got to see the cold, detached side of him.
The evening went on. We visited a playground. We talked. I cried and cried and cried. "I know how I present myself, but I'm actually heartless."
"I just wanted friendship."
"I should take down that profile, I don't even know why I have it up."
"You don't even know who I am. I have those attributes you want, but that doesn't make up me."
And I say: "Why the fuck are you on a dating website if you don't want to date?"
and "I am so fucking sick of this happening."

Then there's conflicting info from a friend about how the Beard had been looking for someone to date and etc etc etc and it doesn't matter.
It doesn't fucking matter.

What matters is that I am still thinking about him, weeks after the fact, after only having been around him 3 times. My roommate says, "some people stick with you." "But I only hung out with him 3 times!" "Maybe that's why."
And I think about Wizard.
And I wonder where everyone has gone that I once loved.
And sometimes I wonder what's wrong with me, and sometimes I wonder what's wrong with everyone else.
And I had a bad week so I cut out everyone. I cut out all the extraneous people. I cut them out and I stopped trying to look like someone I'm not. And now I feel a little lost. And now I miss the Beard; the Beard I don't even know.
I wonder how Wizard is. I wonder if he misses me like I miss him. I think he's cold too. I think he's as dead inside as Pants is.
There are all these little threads of people in my life that I keep picking at. Just when I'm convinced I've ripped them all out, I find another one. It isn't over; it's never over; it will never be over. This will pass, then that will pass, then the next thing passes too.
How is it that nothing lasts, but at the same time nothing ends?

I still fall in love with everyone.

I think that is one of those strength/weakness things.

more thoughts in the process

I don't know where I am. Do you?
Another year almost gone. Feels like I spent half of it out of my mind. Feels like I spent half of it trying to catch up to last year.
Every year I say that I'll make this one better than the last. Every birthday I promise myself that I can start over. I try to grab so many opportunities to make immediate change. I am trying to remember how I felt when I got back from Florida in January. A friend met me with food at the train station. We took a cab to my house. I felt serene and I spoke of these changes. It was premature enlightenment. Am I going to make it through this winter? My second one alone. Thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.
I think of last christmas. Desolation, emptiness, dozens of drawings, hours of loneliness. I think of all the self-help books I stole to try to get ex-otter back. I remember being in the gorgeous Florida sun on a beautiful farm. And I remember how strange it felt to have that warmth and beauty around me as I screamed my pain into the grass when I found out about ex-otter and deafgirl.
Tree. Suicide fear. Calling my mom. Sobbing uncontrollably. Calling my insurance agency to make sure hospitalization for suicide watch would be covered. I have done so many things to try to get over these feelings and actions. Letters that I folded into phoenixes and burnt; drawings that I burnt; words that I ripped up; phone calls; more therapy; more medication; sex; celibacy; a fling of a relationship; movies; meditation; rose quartz; acupuncture; talking; not talking; sad songs; happy songs; hitchhiking; reconnecting; disconnecting; dancing; sleeping; laughing; crying; new friends; old friends; speaking to the dead; ignoring the dead; worry dolls; visualization; reiki; trash talk; well-wishing; panic attacks; anxiety attacks; creating new memories by visiting places we used to go; ignoring old memories by avoiding the places we used to go; hanging with your friends; avoiding your friends; asking about you; asking people not to talk about you; new crushes; old crushes; and more and more and more. What have I not tried? What else can I possibly do to rid my life of you?
I am entering the dark season. The shorter the day, the more depressed I become. Our last memories feel so strained, with the one burst of joy in Oregon being tinged by death. I wish I'd taken more care with my words. I wish you'd been more aware. It's too late now. Can I use this knowledge for the future? Can I not make these mistakes again?
I am so scared of who I have become. Have I ever known myself? How can I continue to strip away my defenses, but remain hardened to the discomfort of others? I have realized that the majority of people are not prepared to hear what goes on in my head. I have realized that most people aren't even honest enough to admit what is going on in their own heads.

I suppose the hardest lesson has been realizing that people don't want me. Also, that I am not independent. I need people. I need to be around them, and love them, and loved by them. I don't like being alone. I need to share myself with someone, and I want that returned. Yet, I have to get used to being alone. It's been months. Why is this so hard to learn?
I don't want to be cold, and hard, and distant. I want to be warm, and loving, and peaceful. I want to connect.
But it's so hard for me to trust motives because most of the time I don't think people are even aware that they have them.

it's not just autumn anymore

I am so fucking lonely, and I hate it.
That is an obvious statement. Who likes being alone? I don't feel desperate; I feel despondent. I want attention. I don't know how to get it.
I throw myself at people like it's gonna make them want me. It doesn't. I don't know how to relax. I don't know how to live without pushing. I don't know how to interact.
This is all so new to me. When I was younger, people liked an assertive/aggressive female-bodied person. Now that I'm older, it seems that I'm to sit back and let the people come to me. But I can't do that. I see what I want and I make moves to take it. This is how my world works. See, want, achieve. But for the past months it's more like see, want, fail.
How do I fall?
I am slow motion tumbling, gathering dust and leaves in my hair. I am comically flailing, trying to stop my descent. I feel the pain moments before it hits. It spreads, pinpointing the most sensitive areas. When I finally reach bottom, I am scraped, bruised, and bleeding. I cannot stop myself from falling; I have to let it run its natural course. I have to wait it out so the wounds can heal and I can fall again.
But that's not how it goes. I don't learn. I keep throwing myself over the edge and then act surprised when I can't stop. I can't fly. I am not invincible. Nothing is there to catch. No one will grab my hand. There is nothing soft to land on. There are rocks, and trees, and ragged ground. There is life, and reality, and death.

Repeat after me.
I have no control over the actions of others.
I have no control over the desires of others.
I have no control over the thoughts of others.
I have no control over the needs of others.
I have no control over other people.
I have no control.
I have no control.
I have no control.

On the flip-side, this also means no one can control me.

an unfinished journey

When things were good, ex-otter used to look at me in disbelief and ask, "where did you come from?" At first I didn't understand. Once upon a time he was so enamored with me. So in love. So unable to believe that not only had the universe managed to create me, it also saw fit to bring me to him.
It had been so long since I thought of him asking me that. He stopped after a while, probably when he ceased to view me as a gift. For some reason it came back to me at 2am as I stood on my steps. I did not cry. I felt that I should, I felt it would be right, but it seemed pointless. Something of Pants was rubbing off on me. Maybe something positive.

After seeing Pants tonight, I felt the need to watch Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Specifically the part where it's talking about "the high water mark." For some reason it really reminded me of him. I don't love him, but I frequently want him. I want to talk to him. I want to crack him open. I want him to feel something for me.

"Everything is always on your terms," I commented to him.
"I can't let you drive."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to go where you want to go."

There is the basis of our conflict. I told him that, as long as he keeps asking me to, I will continue coming to him when he calls me. "At least," I added, "until I find someone to date."
"Are you a monogamist?"
"No." I haven't been in the past, mostly. "Did you know I was married?" He sounded thoughtful when he replied in the affirmative. "We were together for four years and had a non-monogamous relationship that entire time." Not like that matters. It was a breach of trust that tore us apart-- on both sides. Would we have stayed together as long as we had if we'd been monogamous? Would we still be together if we'd been monogamous? There is no way to know the answer. At this point in time, eight years after it all started, there is no point in conjecture.
And honestly, that isn't even me anymore. What if I do need monogamy now? "It depends on the person and the relationship," I amended. And truly, it does.

I have a strange trust when it comes to Pants. I trust his memory. I trust him to not hurt me intentionally. I trust him to not do what he does not want to do. I don't trust that I'll hear from him again. Each interaction could be our last. I don't trust his reactions to comments or observations that I make. I don't trust him not to mock me. In some ways he is very respectful. I can not yet describe how he is not; only that I feel he isn't.
"You aren't enlightened. You're detached." He generally stays quiet when I say these things.
I want to crawl into his brain and sleep among the folds. I want to feel the buzz of thoughts envelope me. I want to find the feelings and release them. Is he the giant whose heart has been replaced by a wasp's nest? Where does his real heart live? How can life be worth living when you feel nothing?
"I like fucking you because it's the only time you're present. Other times, like now, you're just distant." And, like always, no response. When there is, each word is carefully picked. Even his tone is robotic. Yet, I hear more than what he says. This is common for anyone that I've spent intimate time with. Anyone that has shared anything with me.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to love him. Unrequited, unacknowledged. Unappreciated. When was the last time he felt something for someone? When was the last time he desired beyond the physical?

I will not be the one to lead him from his coldness. I'm not convinced that anyone will. I have no idea what his life is when we are not together. Never before 11pm, only once through the night. It was easier when I did not want him.
But it's better now that I do.

I hope this does not keep me from something real.