Vintage Post #1
This will never be forgotten. These are not just words.
Friday, May 30, 2008 at 4:13am
He didn’t come over tonight. It’s all right that he didn’t, I told him it was okay for him to stay home and get some sleep. The boy, he needs his sleep. He’d been drinking and wasn’t safe to drive yet. So I was magnanimous enough to let him sleep it off. Aren’t I a peach?
I have a picture of him that I want desperately to post here. But I don’t, for three reasons:
1. I believe he prefers anonymity
2. You won’t see what I see, so what’s the point?
3. My ex might hunt him down and kill him
But this picture gets me. Right in the gut. Or the heart. Or the pants. Or something.
I am not used to being helpless, of knowing so well that I only have two options: full speed ahead or jump ship. I can’t pull back on the throttle or whatever I’d have to do to slow this thing down and make my metaphor work. I’m fucked, essentially.
So, I have crushes. I have the option of other lovers. There are people for whom I have some interest in that capacity. I can kiss whomever I want. Whoo hoo. It makes for a lot of boring Friday nights. Many, many boring Friday nights. Usually he is here on Thursdays, but tonight I graciously allowed him to bow/pass out. I even fucking suggested it.
Which is essentially like a junkie saying, no honey, you shoot the last of the heroin.
I’m twitching and alone.
And all the other drugs just won’t do because all I want is him.
I took a bunch of photographs because I’m already getting ready for the time when he won’t be around anymore, when these pictures and a few saved IM conversations are all I’ll have to remember him by. I’m already stockpiling evidence of his existence for when he’s gone. So I’ll know. So I can remember.
There was a really bad night back in… March? I think it was March. I was really fucked-up because The Ex had come over unannounced and thrown my brain out of whack. I drove over to CGB’s. I wanted so desperately to be held, but I was afraid to ask for it. I needed to cry, but I didn’t want him to see me lose it. He made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on wheat bread, and we watched “Hudson Hawk.”
Grape jelly. And a beer. And… a stupid movie that I hardly even remember. I want to keep that memory close to my heart for the cold times, the dark times, the lonely nights. He made me a sandwich. I even ate the crusts. I drank the beer, although I don’t like beer.
They say the only way to be ok with death is to really embrace it, to live your life to the fullest knowing it can end at any time. And maybe the only way to love somebody is to know that they could fall away at any time, that this too shall pass. So I’m already treating him like a memory. Because I don’t know what else to do.