it doesn't really matter anymore.

I think I realized what I'm doing. Of course, I've thought that before.
Someone wants to have sex with me. He says, "when was the last time you were tested? how many people have you slept with since then?" and I had to think really hard. How many people HAVE I slept with since then?
And I think of the unsafe sex I've been having. I've never been this way before. I've always insisted on condoms in the past. Then I met the ex-otter and he broke me of the habit and suddenly it just doesn't seem like that big of a deal. But it is.
Yes, another form of self-destruction within self-destruction. Do I really just not care?
So it took a person in a poly relationship to make me rethink the way I've been acting. I mean, sexually. I'm almost always analyzing everything else that I do; I don't know how sex slipped through the cracks.
I said, "I don't date." I don't want a partner. I don't want to answer to anyone. What is this called? Is this denial? Is this just another form of not dealing?
How do I peel it all away? I dreamt of ex-otter last night. Extensively. And I don't want to anymore. I don't want it.
I loved who he was, not who he is now. How do I reconcile?

How do I move on and really mean it?

unnecessary exing

I saw his best friend before I saw him. her fading orange hair, sitting on the sidewalk and leaning against the brick wall. Then I noticed him. I waved and said, "hey" or something like that. I think they were surprised into responding. A mumble, no eye contact.
I don't know what happened. This isn't the way things have ever gone with me. It's just confusing. I lost a lot of respect for him. I surprised myself. He made no effort to ever talk to me about real things; to talk to me about anything; to figure out shit at all. He has a lot of attributes I find attractive but in the end he's just like all the others.
An enormous disappointment. Doomed to deny and fail.
Well, at least I didn't follow him for too long. At least he's invisible. I should get crushes on introverted newbies more often -- the damage is so much less than I'd ever expected.

Oh, and I dig myself further and further in by playing off my pain as assholery. The truth? I miss him. A lot.

Just don't tell him I said it.

numb secret

dreamt about him last night. all my friends were betraying me by secretly interacting with him. one had a band with him in it. I found out that he was living with his new girlfriend. though unsurprised, I was still angry.
in real life, I would be unsurprised. not too angry, though. just sad.
when he left me, I was finally at the point where I felt I would be ready to live with him. I was going to ask him to move in. he smothers. he finds you, and envelopes you, and sucks your life, and yet expects his total independence. he is a commitment freak without actually committing. how does that make sense?
it wasn't a good dream last night. it was full of struggles, and fantasy, and anger, and pain. insurmountable obstacles. unknown protagonists. unseen.
I don't feel as affected by it today as I normally would. I woke up in a sweat, like I have been since the weather turned. I woke up in a sweat and was relieved. I already assume he's living with her, because he was living with me in all but lease when we were together. I know he's been lying to himself and to others. and I don't think his roommate would be trying to hang out with me if ex-otter was still at the house all the time.
and yes, part of me wants to know. but mostly I just want him cut from my life like the eye of a potato. planted, unseen, growing, unknown until dug for.
I do not wish to dig.

dead fantasies

I still think about him when I masturbate, and I wish that wasn't the case. I loved the noises he would make and the way he felt inside of me. I liked the way he'd push my face into the pillow and hold the back of my neck. his voice would sound thick when I'd taunt him with my ass. he couldn't look at it when he was fucking me or he'd come. he loved to fuck me from behind. I loved it too.
I still think about him pulling out and coming on my chest, or my stomach, or my back. the noise he'd make. the warmth, sliding on my skin. the sense of urgency. no, I can't do anything sexual without wanting him. how long will it take for that to go away? can I find anyone else to dominate me in the same way? can I find someone who knows just where on my neck to bite?
I think so, yeah, I can teach someone else.
but oh, I miss those muscled thighs. those tiny pecs. his goddamn beautiful hands. I haven't seen a dick as nice as his since he left me. I know I'll find another one to match and overcome it. I just want to find it now.
since it's clear he's not coming back.

draining the river

sitting in the dark, eating chocolate. oh my god, it is so beautiful out today. gonna sit on the roof and paint pictures. gonna sit on the roof and not think of anyone. gonna sit on the roof and just be.
and yeah, I've been talking about you. but it hasn't been so bad. I saw a guy with a bike sitting on a bench. he was wearing an orange cap. I thought it could be you. I didn't investigate.
what if you'd seen me, hung over and disoriented? I know I look good; people keep checking me out. Yeah, physically, my body looks good. what if you'd seen me in such a state of sex-appeal and spacey? would you have been sad that I seemed self-destructive (it's within reason, it's allotted, allocated)? would you have been glad you left me those long months ago?
I don't know. I still am not there. I still don't think this is for the best, but I'm doing what I can to be ok. No, that doesn't mean drinking and smoking and fucking. Those are peripheral. Those aren't of the nature of nurture. Those are for fun, not to fix.
My life is not ruled by these things. My life is ruled by school and work and doing alright. That other stuff? It's just there to kill a little time. It's there to feel good about the things I couldn't do before. It's there to remind me what "normal" is. It's there to be there to be there.
And I could stop it. I do sometimes. And I could make it heavier. I don't. And I could be consumed. I'm not.
Gonna grab my paints and gonna sit on the roof. Gonna dream of a dream that was last night. Gonna be fine and content and a bit hung over. Gonna drink so much water I overflow.
But not in a bad way.
Gonna flush my system out. And maybe that's what the sex does. Gonna flush my system of you.

who are you, where are you, what do you know now that you didn't before?

I don't know what to say today. How many ways can I express that I miss you? How many times can I explain how you've changed my life? My reality isn't, anymore. The world has reversed and I am drowning in not-true. All things that weren't supposed to happen, have. The things you said you wouldn't do, done. You're so far from me that I couldn't see your face if it was right in front of me.
Sometimes I wonder what you look like now. I wonder if it's much different. Have you grown your hair out? Have you cut it all off? Do you still shave your face? I bet you dress more like a hippie now, because your girlfriend's one. I bet you're just starting to realize how much you miss me.

I bet your whole house is.
If you still have a house.

I wonder if I could love the person that you are now. What if it wasn't you that I saw the other day, engine purring, cowboy hat on? How can I be so certain? Because I knew. I knew. Like I know many things. You saw me, whether you can admit it or not. You saw me, and it hurt.
It's a twinge, that pain. It's a cramp in your neck you don't notice 'til you turn your head just so. It's that shooting pain in your hand when you incorrectly grasp something. It's not constant. It's worse than that. It's surprising, but the kind of surprise that comes from forgetting to expect it. It makes it worse, because you knew you should have known. You just keep thinking it will go away.
It doesn't. I remain. I remain, and move on, and step back, and fall over, and miss you. And let go. And pick up. And cry. I still cry sometimes. I still say your name to nothing, to the air, to no one. I say it outloud to myself when I miss you, when I want you to be beside me, when I say again, "how could you have done this?"

I don't think I'll ever know. And for all your posturing and explanation, I don't think you know either.

the cocoon you put me in

yesterday at a stop light. he turned right, I went forward. I didn't see him til he reached the next light. silhouette of a cowboy hat. purring diesel engine. No, I don't know that it was him but everything fit in just right. it completed the picture.

what did I look like on my bike; the bike he made for me? thick thigh high leg warmers, cycling shorts, short skirt, tight striped shirt, my orange helmet, waiting patiently at the light? did he feel anything?

I thought I felt nothing. a twinge of apprehension, longing, sadness. then gone.

I thought I felt nothing. but here I am, a day later, still thinking about it. and I haven't told anyone that it happened. it's my little secret.

so he got his car running. he'd have to, to see his girlfriend. I hated him driving. he doesn't belong in machinery. he is someone else; I am someone else; I am trying to break out of my chrysalis to let my wings unfurl and dry in the sun. I once hatched a butterfly that didn't have enough room to open. she ended up with cramped wings, useless and crumpled. she died.

is that me? where is the room to spread my beauty? how will I know when I'm ready? d asked me, "if you acted how you feel, what would you do?" I said, "I'd be cold. distant. I pretend I'm how I used to be because I don't want to alienate people." who I am inside has shifted so far that I don't know what to do with the left over space. I don't care anymore.
everything hurts and I don't care.

conjecture

I wonder if acceptance is:
-a slow steady numbness
-losing emotion
-pretending you still feel

I wonder if acceptance is:
-losing interest in the chase
-losing interest in chasing anyone
-losing interest in being chased

I wonder if acceptance is:
-numb fingertips
-staring at the ceiling
-not whispering his name at night anymore

I wonder if acceptance is:
-cessation of anger
-not caring that the anger is gone
-what comes when the anger goes

I wonder if acceptance is:
-not caring if he saw me
-not caring if I saw him
-not loving anyone new

I wonder if acceptance is:
-following someone else's lead
-acting out emotion but not feeling it
-inability to be the cold distance

I wonder if acceptance is:
-making myself like someone
-trying too hard for someone who isn't worth it
-existing and not caring

I wonder if acceptance is not saying his name outloud to myself. I wonder if acceptance is the sadness I feel when I think of him. I wonder if acceptance is feeling bad for their future. I wonder if acceptance is knowing I'll not meet someone like him again, and being unconcerned. I wonder if acceptance is having a dead heart. I wonder if acceptance is straight Bs from an A student.

I wonder if acceptance is not taking action one way or the other, knowing that nothing would have an effect anyway.

scenes from real life

oh, you take so long to heal. spreading like a bruise, a new picture each day. there's a hard spot in the center that I can't feel. that's me, that's you.
pressure and I don't feel the pain. it's just the perimeter of color that hurts. the people that begin to touch me and I push them away. we become a nodded head in a crowd. an angry letter for no reason.
"I love you" but it doesn't matter. "I still love you" but all is still. "I have never stopped" but you did, otherwise this bruise wouldn't be here. this situation wouldn't exist.
she said, "oh, those take so much longer to heal." he said, "this isn't like you." I said, "I know, I know."
what do you want me to do about it? I can't. I just wait. I wait and talk and cry and think and carry charms around with me. I open and close and sleep and wake and wonder when the dreams will fade away.

the beauty I can't have

ribs.
I want ribs. ribcage fingerholds, give me something to grab. I miss them. I miss that. skinny boy, all bones and muscle. skinny boy and your bike legs. your jawline and freckles. your moles.
miss your slender fingers, knuckles worn. miss the creases in your palms, the lines of someone who works and works hard.
oh.
you.

no I do not miss you. I just miss what I had.

how foolish I have been.

invisible lungs

lonely tonight. still can't get used to it. been shaking lately; the kind where you feel your whole body quivering and nothing makes it stop. hold out my hand, watch the quaking of my fingers; tiny tremors that scare me.
is it:
-medication?
-stress?
-sleep deprivation?
-depression?
-anxiety?
-left over physical symptoms of grief?

what? what ARE you?

they go away gradually. I don't even notice, until suddenly I realize my heart doesn't feel heavy anymore. my chest is normal, not clenched like a fist squeezing clay. I am no longer malleable. I am human. I am alive.

then I ride my bike home and marvel at how easily I ride. and when I am happy, I think of him. I wish I could have been a strong rider when we were together. I wish a lot of things, but this is no fairy tale. wishes don't get granted. they only make things hurt.

lonely and I don't know who to call. tired of professing self-pity. tired of feeling superfluous.

sometimes I still feel like the past six months have been a dream and I will wake up in my loft and ex-otter will be sleeping on the futon beneath me and I'll do like I used to and hang my head down and watch him breathe. his beautiful face. beautiful chest, with his ribs expanding as the air goes in and then contracting as the air goes out. beautiful beautiful, because I loved him.

the best beauty is the beauty only you can see.

talk to me

I've always expected my exes to be story tellers. nights sometimes we would lie shoulder to shoulder on the bed and I would whisper, "tell me a story."
one long distance ex recounted the tale of the four kingdoms to me, over the course of months. when I couldn't sleep or found myself in the throes of anxiety, his quiet voice would soothe me. ex-otter talked like a fable. his hands would weave the images, his voice never betraying emotion. it was always just below the surface, never quite able to breathe.
so many exes fancied themselves writers. not von though. she never let me read what she wrote. I never cracked that notebook open. but she read my secrets, oh yes, and I didn't find out until things were almost over.
I love stories. I love the fantasy. I like to imagine a world where plans carry through. you can skip to the end and it doesn't change when you go back to the beginning. none of the details shift in memory, they're all right in front of you. solid.
and people fall in love and stay in love. love conquers everything.

fuck.

this isn't at all where I meant to go.

our personal misconceptions

you
are
beautiful

for some reason I expected you to not know that. how do you exist, with our similarities, and not want me? how can you sit there so calmly and say you're not interested? we don't see the same things, and that's why I like you. you're clever and funny and slightly acidic. my blood remembers to flow and my heart wakes up and pumps and sometimes I'm taken aback but I never wish I was somewhere else when we're together.

who the hell talks to me like you do and doesn't want me? no one has ever casually mentioned sex so many times without wanting to have it. I feel physically pushed anytime you say something with matter-of-fact flirtation. you don't filter. you're like me. but you're not.
maybe we're too alike in some ways because you want someone more feminine but I'm content with your androgyny. well, you're a man and I couldn't mistake you for anything else. I don't feel more masculine than you are. I feel pretty equal, but I guess that's what you mean. why would you want some wilting flower to protect?
and what did you mean -- you wouldn't know what to do with me?
I will not change for you because I wouldn't want someone changing for me. and you said you didn't want that anyway. I just ponder these criteria and continue to think, "how could someone so right for me find me so wrong for them?"

you didn't need to be that way

eight years of using pitas. I'm worried someday it will just cease to be. The help email account hasn't worked for years. It's been five years since they posted an update about the site. they aren't accepting new sign ups.
here I am. blogger. it isn't the same. we don't know each other well enough yet, blogger and I.
but I can try.

I border on obsession. I refresh, repeat, check up on his status. I am creepy creepy creepy and I have no reason to be.
I want him, and it's stupid. it's something I made up to pass the time but now it's become real.

Writing here doesn't feel right. It's too light colored. It's too clean. but I don't remember much html anymore and to be honest I was never good at it anyway. templates are so much easier.

hm.
templates.
is that what I try to do, find someone to fit into the hole in my chest? Maybe. a template. doesn't matter, it never works anyway.