05.31.01
Kentville, the birth of my desire
I called Jimmy tonight. We have half-assed plans to meet tomorrow or Saturday. Someday. I guess I won't really get him alone this weekend, it's not the time. Of course I'd like to talk one-on-one. Tell him how sometimes I'm confused. How sometimes I'm sad. How sometimes I'm scared. To tell him, remind him, how the inside of my head works. To show him what's there now. Even if we were alone, I wouldn't say those things unless he asked. And I don't think he'd ask.
I'd like to test myself. I made it through a coffee-shop visit with a lack of desire. Nothing in my head more sexual than remembering how familiar the little quirks on his body still were. How would I do in a kitchen if we were high, or on a couch? With the very real possibility of touch in a sexual manner.
Sometimes I don't know the right words to explain how I feel and what I think. And sometimes I would rather just listen to other people try to figure out their own souls in frusteration. Because other people are often much easier to figure out than myself.
I still see him, see through his mask of uncaring. See his fear and hurt. Why is he hurting so much? Why is he so hard for him to figure out, I wonder.
He said he doesn't like having sex with girls he doesn't love. I guess I'd have to say that I have faith in him that he'll be alright. He said he hurt Jennifer because he told her he wasn't in love with her and now he's the jerk.
J: does being honest make you a jerk?
K: it's better to be honest.
J: you were mad at me before
K: that's because it hurts
J: I know, but I hate this buffer zone.
Who doesn't?
During these last two years, I guess I've realized how few people you actually connect with. He's one of them. Maybe we wouldn't connect now, but we met in the universe of stars for a few fleeting seconds. And something about the memory of that, and the feeling I get in my heart when I remember him, makes me think that it isn't over for us. You don't connect with someone and then walk away. Physically, yes you can. But emotionally, he still owns that part of me, and I own that part of him. He's never said as much, but I can feel it. I want him in my life, I've decided. Not as a boyfriend, and not in a sexual relationship. But I think (hope) that eventually we will come to the point where we can be close again. That was the first time either of us has mentioned the time when we were together without causing hurt or anger. It's slow, but we're making progress. I'm making progress.
Talking to him always makes me want to cry a little, for what's gone. I guess I am scared. I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life, but I think I'd rather be alone than settle for less than what we had. Maybe the reason I could never say that to him is because I'm not the only girl he's been in love with. He's been in love since me. That hurts.
There are some words that are better left unsaid. I only hope that he can still feel me when I'm not speaking. I wonder if he can. k.
wunderwuman at