And here I am again
Months of bliss.
Month after
Month after
Month after
Month after
Month.
Months full of pinching ourselves and playfully toying with the notion of forever. Playing house.
Everything, together. Grocery shopping, studying, carpooling, entertaining guests, sleeping, not sleeping, watching tv, fixing the tv, cooking, doing the dishes, ambling through the neighborhood. Together, together together.
And my eye might of wandered once or twice. My mind might have entertained little “what if” fantasies here and there. But it was always a flash and then it was gone.
And then… because there is always an “and then”….
Our closely intertwined paths, unknit themselves and diverge for
Three
Long
Weeks.
All of a sudden, there I was. Not together all the time. Not grocery shopping, not studying, not carpooling… entertaining guests?
Guests? Which guests should I entertain? Here I am… alone. He is miles away. And that self-destructive sentence comes back out of its several month long slumber.
He would never know.
There I was. Alone in my apartment. With three or four numbers I could dial. Four different combinations of numbers that would all lead me to the same heated exchanges, the same brief moment of impassioned, exhilerated utterances, giggles, and touches. Only to be followed by the aftershock. The guilt. The feelings of failure and self-loathing. The deep longing to carefully turn back around and tip toe in my own muddy footprints back to the cleanly paved path. The constant wondering if he knows. If he can tell. Watching his every move and analyzing his every word to answer the one question: Does he know? Does he know? Does he know? Which twists and contorts, a living breathing concept, does he know does he know
does he know, he does know (the concept begins to snarl)
he does know….
he… is he? has he? if i can hide it, so can he. so can he. so can he. (the teeth begin to gnash)
he can hide it. he is hiding it.
who. who has he been with.
who is she?
who is she?
who is she?
And there I am in the mirror, asking myself again and again, who is she, who is she, who is she. Looking into those same lonely, self-tortured eyes.
But… it’s different this time. This man deserves better. I respect this man. I want to give this man my life.
I lock myself away in my tower. No numbers are dialed. I wait and wait and wait for him to come back. Hoping I can just…hold… out a little… longer.
And finally the tension is released, all is well. He never has to know.
But he has a friend who has a lingering eye. Who has a penetrating stare. Who has been sent here from that dark and muddy swamp to torture me. I will not give in. He is just a boy. He has nothing to offer. I’m happy. Everything is perfect. Why won’t he stop looking at me like that. God I love the way he stares at me. I feel so desired. So wanted. If only he’d stop looking. No. No. No.
We are together again, he shares my bed night after night. But… not… every… night.
And those are the hardest. I sit in my cold and lonely bed… and I send a text… just one…
He responds…. one more…
I stop…
And then another night… one text..
he responds…
We are both trying to find time alone. No one is saying anything honest. No one is saying why.
No. No. No.
I should tell him so he can help me stop myself. He should know. This is different. He should know I have a slight addiction.
But then… what if I want to pursue this…
No.
I tell him. I tell him I have a problem with wandering off and finding myself in the middle of harmless dalliances.
I tell him the truth. I had the craving. I tell him.
