It’s okay to call a foul.

butterflies, softened

It’s almost uncomfortable. almost.

The way you make me feel – unreal unfamiliar but not unclear. Even though I’ve never felt them before, I know exactly what they are. Butterflies.

I’ve heard people talk about this before, and thought them crazy or caught in the throes of some lustful intoxication that feels like lust but I’ve felt lust and this is no duplication. The funny thing is that it’s not constant, I only seem to get this electric fluttering when we’re on that same wavelength.

Like … connected. I hate that this feels fated. Men are normally the ones who feel that about me. And I enjoy that high and indulge. It’s easy for me to tune into other people, to feel their feelings in my body, to intuitively be able to draw the stress from their bodies, insinuate peace into their minds, to get them to feel me, to feel me the way they can see some version of the real me. I guess that’s the reason I’m always the one to leave.

But man… these butterflies. My belly dancing with your memory in it. Fluttering and diving, just thinking of you. Like an insane person. Like one of those crazy, about to fall off the cliff into love people. Man, am I in trouble…

I’m so afraid to feel this way, to be swept into being into you or letting you be into me and I can’t figure out why. I guess I am too impatient and both tired of waiting and in love with the agony of being only 80% sure that this fever is mutual. All I’ve got is what you say and do to me, which technically is enough but I hate assumptions. But there’s so much enjoyment in being courted and taking it slow.

So I can’t give in to the temptation yet. Not with the lingering promise ahead. Not when this living buzzing feeling inside feels so good.

Not when I know what I know in the light with you. Not when you tell me you can’t make love to me in the dark because you have to see me. Not when you climax from our kisses. Not when you say such brilliant things for no reason. Not when you remind me of my beauty. Not when you make such beauty out of sound.

Part of it IS lust. I admit that. I can’t lay on my stomach on my bed anymore – it always ends the same way with my thighs pressed together longing to feel you behind me..pushing… grinding… mmm….

Wait, what was I saying… oh yes… part of it IS lust but it’s only a part, this isn’t an accident, or just the juxtaposition of our bodies bringing each other earthly satisfaction. I guess it’s like you said, there’s no way we can keep away from each other and restrict this to “just friends”. Or that other time you talked about how we are so pulled to each other. Or how, given the chance, we go to crazy lengths to see each other for tiny snatches of time.

I learned this during our recent starvation from each other. I still couldn’t escape your eyes in my head, and this went way beyond wanting you back in my bed. I wanted you opinion, to hear you smile, to make you smile. And if I take this fate back to bedroom states, yes, I don’t just want to be pleasured by you, I want to find every way to please you that I can.

So infinite, definite, intangible, and yet real enough to touch. Lust and something turning into love, so scary when I normally have such control over my emotions. I can get to the edge and back up. With everyone else but you.

I hope. These butterflies will loan me wings…

So let me tell you how this thing went down, and, later, who this guy is to my heart and things.

In college, I knew this guy. I won’t go into too many details because I don’t want those of you who knew me in college to give the man the third degree, because really this is just starting back up. It hasn’t even been a week since we’ve become reacquainted.

Of course, from the first day we saw each other again after about 17 years, we’ve been together four out of the six days since then under extremely inconvenient circumstances.

But.

I’m really looking at this with both feet on the ground, hard as it is. If you ask my heart, that’s another story. Still, he makes me feel as if I don’t have to rush, as if I have a secure enough place to take my time.

Okay, so let’s get in the way back machine.

When I met this guy, I was in the second semester of my freshman year. I’d just started to find my people on campus. I started to frequent the school nightclub and it’s been so long I’m not sure if that’s where we met, or if we just ended up there. Anyway, we had the same circle of friends and hung out together, and somehow, I can’t quite remember how, we ended up pairing off.

I remember really digging him, great conversations, warm hugs, romantic and sensual sparks/events. It wasn’t quite long enough for us to be in a relationship though.

Just when we were getting to know each other better, something happened to him – a project he was on brought him fame and fortune. There came a choice between that, and finishing school. And the smart thing to do was to chase that dream and finish your degree later.

We lost touch over the years. I thought about him on occasion and would get word that he was doing well. What I didn’t know is that he was really getting successful at what he was doing, traveling the world, meeting people I see on TV, hear on the radio, and read about in tabloids.

Now, I’ve never been one to be star-struck or to think that knowing/being with famous people makes you better than other people. I’ve known and met famous people and I only ever got geeked over literary icons. Because 1- I’m a nerd, and 2- some people regard me as famous in my tiny part of the internet, so I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of it.

However, in the field he is in, the people he worked with represented dream opportunities, they’re all names you would recognize, and I’m proud of the work he’s done, so I’m mentioning it here. It’s also relevant to the story.

To continue, this is how we got back in touch.

You ready?

FREAKING FACEBOOK!

I know, right? Crazy.

He was in touch with a friend of mine who I was recently back in touch with and she told him I was on Facebook. He contacted me in January. I bantered back and forth with him a bit, then he said he wanted to talk to me. I, asshole that I am, didn’t call him back for five days. I really wanted to let Valentine’s Day pass before I spoke to any male on the planet. Ha.

But I spoke to him shortly before Valentine’s day. And every day since then. During one of our discussions, we discovered that I had something rare he wanted to borrow. I’m barely 45 minutes from him without traffic, so we’d made arrangements to meet last week on Thursday.

We ended up seeing each other on Wednesday instead, then on Thursday as planned. Then almost every day since then, we’ve been together. He’s going through some drama, some unbelievable messed up crap that would make my hair fall out, but he’s driving nearly hour out of his way almost every day to come and see me.

So that covers the back story. I’ll talk about all the other stuff next.

As always, this is an incredibly self-centered post. The site is called “Tinu Stuff” people. Get used to it, LOL!

Seriously though, the reason I have a special site that acts as the public side of my personal journal is for three reasons.

First, I like to keep written records, both on and offline, of how I feel, what I think and how I came to certain conclusions, etc., to help with my own evolution. I’m always attempting to make myself into the best me. This helps.

Second, pure entertainment value. It amazes me how many people just enjoy seeing what is in someone else’s mind and heart.

Third, I’m hoping that some small part of this blog will be a help, inspiration or warning to someone. Even if it’s one person. I know that there have been several times where reading someone else’s thoughts on a situation they were in helped me immensely.

Today I’m thinking about what would make my relationships in the future more successful. And I’ve come up with several things.

First, in the beginning, I have to start keeping all thoughts about the situation to myself unless someone should expressly ask. I’ve become conscious of the fact that I vacillate between complete radio silence and bursts of emotion, and that it’s potentially quite unnerving. It’s usually because when I meet people, I watch and circle them for weeks or months before actually engaging. Then, in the few circumstances where I feel I’ve met someone I can connect with, I’m so happy about it that my filter turns completely off.

The problem is that while some people welcome this wholeheartedly and with relief that they can now do the same, other people don’t find it as cool. On top of that, I often do it in writing. And if you’ve been here or to any other site of mine before, you can see that I can sit down and write a 1000 word stream-of-consciousness brain dump in less than an hour, and read one in less than 3 minutes.

I easily forget that not everyone is a speed reader or particularly fond of reading long prose. Ah, well. In business, I learned to write for people who scan. Not so much in my personal life — if anything I’m more verbose.

Secondly, I really have to think about what I truly want in a relationship versus what I think I’m supposed to have.

Yes, I want to fall in love. But I don’t want, need or expect love to be all-consuming. I want to have a life outside my primary partnership and I want my partner to do the same. That’s how we can keep things fresh – space and lots of it. I believe true love is about freedom.

Yes, I want to get married. But I don’t want to have a traditional marriage. Not to say I wouldn’t adore being a house wife. I’m down for all of it expect cleaning, so I’d probably keep my business open part-time to guarantee we’d have household help. I’m not damaging my health for anyone, ever again.

What I mean by non-traditional is that I’m not a traditionalist in most respects, as far as relationships are concerned. I’m from a culture where a man and a woman go to a party together and everyone dances with everyone else’s spouse. I thought this was normal until I went to college and faced issues of possessiveness and jealousy whenever I was what I felt was a little flirty.

That’s really the shallow end of the pool though. I believe men can be tender and still masculine, gentlemen and still respect equality. I also don’t believe that you can or should possess another person, outside the romantic sense of the word. I believe we are brought together to love each other as we are, not “fix” each other. I believe in freedom, on both sides of the fence… while I want to be part of a couple that does things together, I don’t believe we have to, or should want to, spend all our free time together.

I’m a creative person, and when I get into my creative space, I need to be alone. That can last for hours sometimes and I need to be with someone who is okay with that, or better yet, just not around certain times of days or days of the week so I can habituate myself into summoning as much of my inspiration as I can in that alone time.

That’s not to say I want to end up with someone I don’t see. Not at all. Just that I’m the type of person who could be with a basketball player who was on the road for weeks at a time, as long as the quality of the time we have together is superior and prioritized.

Actually, judging by past relationships, I think I would thrive on it. And I also see how not having those options sometimes made me feel smothered. I was once deeply in love with someone who wanted to be with me every day, all day, no matter what. I appreciated his devotion, but was frustrated with the fact that we didn’t ever DO anything once we were together. So we had all of the time but none of the spark. No intellectual stimulation, no conversation, no exploration or travel.

Yeah, there was the sex, but since I was better at it than he was, that kinda sucked after a while – not horribly.

But have you ever had your favorite dish, prepared the exact same way for three weeks in a row, at every meal. Trust me by the time you get to week three you want to punch newborn kittens in the face.

I also feel that freedom is important here. Over the years, I’ve found that I’m not so much a jealous or possessive woman at all, it’s just the way I react when I feel the relationship is insecure. Once the declarations of love come into play and are reinforced with some regularity, and my position as his lady is secure, I get very laid back as far as feeling secure in the relationship.

In fact, I’ve come to realize that I’m actually not the jealous type at all when I’m feeling balanced. I was just unbalanced so often, in so many of the wrong relationships that I thought it was the norm.

This is important because I want to be married to someone who is ambitious or has some kind of purpose to their life with respect to adding to the world, not just living in it and taking from it. Nine times out of ten, that means you’ll be looking at a creative type, or a social type, both of which have to deal with either fans or making social connections.

And if you’re constantly asking “Who the hell is Christine!?” and waving business cards in the man’s face? Probably not a good match. When I realize that this is what I wanted, and how the way I related was incongruent, I fixed it fast.

Now, granted, in my last major relationship, I fixed it TOO much, because who seriously goes for marrying a guy with 6 kids by four mothers, who lives in proximity to two of them, and can barely support themselves? And on top of that wanted to keep me a secret until we were at least 2 kids deep?

Yeah, I’m talking about Droplet. Let’s not even get into THAT.

I’d prefer it be an artist – it’s been a lifelong dream to find a way to marry a poet or a painter – or better yet be one – and still live a comfortable life.

I want – need – to be with someone who wants to travel. Who enjoys it. Because one of my favorite things in the wide world is to hotel hop for a couple of weeks and live off room service. In about five years, I’ll probably try to figure out how to turn that into a career.

There was a time when I used to make up reasons to travel, just because I had the money. Other days I would say I was traveling, and go to a hotel in my home city instead. I adored having a good reason to hotel hop in Vegas.

And I don’t need someone else to be there. I can have a perfectly fantastic time on my own, not to mention that since I can work from anywhere with a high speed connection, I never need miss work because I thought it’d be a nice day to island-hop. If I get bored, I just go out and meet people. Folks just like to chat with me for some reason. I’m told I have one of those faces.

There are physical and personality characteristics too.

Yep. I have a list and I’m ain’t settling. There are certain things I’ll give up to get other things, but some stuff is mandatory.

I’ll post that whole list later.

The point of all this is, I’m starting to see how deep my issue of choosing the wrong men goes.

Whenever I chose someone physically unavailable, who couldn’t be near me, it’s because I wanted to be in love without the responsibility of doing anything about it.

When I would chose someone who was emotional unavailable, it had a lot to do with how much I valued myself and my belief that I was worthy of love. And it was often because I wasn’t ready for the level of commitment – and I never will be because I want to be in love and married BUT I don’t want to be in the standard relationship….

I need a man who is away sometimes, whether that means marrying an entrepreneur who doesn’t work out of the home as I do, or being with some salesman who travels the world for his job and takes me with him.

Now, choosing someone technically unavailable must be sub-conscious. I’m so ready to find a person to be with and stop dating and starting over. I want to build a future with one person, in a relationship we define together, rather than one we find ourselves prisoners to because “that’s what people do.”

For a while, I even talked myself out of finding a man who was a friend to me first, simply because none of us hurts our true friends the way we do lovers. That friendship is the bedrock that I believe takes you through the hard times. When you know that other person is your captain or first mate, that it’s the two of you teamed up against the world, it adds so much to life.

And no, those aren’t all the things I’ve decided I want. Matter of fact, tomorrow or Tuesday I’ll put up the list – so if you find him you can tell him I’m looking.

Hm. Actually I might not be at the moment. I have one guy I’m looking really seriously at, and another waiting in the wings behind him (if he acts right), just in case.

Which I deserve a wrist slap for, I know but it’s not like I’m doing this on purpose.

Besides, it’s too early for me to tell with this person. The instant he says he’s mine, all other bets are off. So I’ll put it up for entertainment value, ‘kay?

i.

i write life on thin skin looking within for words that will make me less sensitive to the burn of existence.

i look for love inside and outside and up and down and sometimes i find it in the first place i looked and sometimes i find that what i was looking for is an illusion i cannot touch and in my confusion i trip over lust and fall into love.

sprained my ankle once and couldn’t get away from the eyes i erected in my mind and the free flow that i found in his words. his words reached out to my inner secrets brushed up against the innocence i was hiding even from myself.

his words chased me inside myself and i found out i was running from love into misery before he came.
his words would not let me escape from reality.

ii.

it’s all in the details baby girl, he said.

lay down. yeah. right there. no, no just lay there. i want to see you. i like to see your body waiting for me. put your arms down love. yeah. like that. just wait for me. i’m right here, no need to reach for me. i just

….want to see you.

looking at your toes, and this new polish pedicure fetish you developed to keep the attention of my mouth. let me…taste them… do you really like this better than… mmmmm. you got some big feet girl. sexy lil anklet…

to go with those strong calves, is it from driving a stick?

and them big thighs… thank god for Queens. not supersized or skinnified and i love your curves and the way your stomach sticks out despite all that sitting up you do.

keep jogging if you want to but don’t lose those hips or those ripe, ripe melons swinging like forbidden fruit before me… is that why you like my big hands, because i can hold a D-cup?

don’t cover your eyes…

Sweetie, why you getting all shy?

iii.

details. in the details. the way he looks at me with those eyes, 161 eyelashes on the end of the left eyelid. i counted once, have looked in his eyes that long every day we are together, long enough to count the eyelashes on the end of the left eyelid.

he breathes in such lovely spirals, i can see it when it’s cold and i just want to be in his air, hope always for that moment before the kiss where i will be wondering how long he’s going to let my hunger burn.

details. in the De-Tails. the details of the pores of the skin on his face.

that is the face i love, the face that bathes me in moonbeam streams of honesty. he loves so many places in me, inside me, all the things i think are flaws, he finds adorable….

details.
details of a long longing because i had gone almost 39 hours without his voice. i counted. yes, i counted.

details.
details of a sneaky memory telling my body what i want to forget until i see him again.

that i want him, that i desire his touch on my shoulder or my stomach or my knee or my eyes… just to have him caress me with his eyes…

details.
details of a lover’s flesh pressed against the best organ i have, skin, skin with nerve endings to tell me his love is real and on top of me and moving into me, and this memory bites me hard because he is not here and i only have my hands to comfort me, hands that are deft to speed me to the beginning of the end again and put me back at the end of the beginning, the end of the yearning that comes before the need to be touched, but not by myself, only a sorry sorry substitute even when it’s electronic his worst performance is the emancipation of my loneliness and some of my life’s best because it’s so stained with the love that is overcoming us both on his face and in my eyes.

details. like at the start of an orgasm, the loudest lover i have ever had. and it charges me so to hear him sing the imminence of his physical inner madness that will explode inside me vibrating me from inside the canal of my love and drips down into my thighs and rides my blood into the rest of my body.

details.

details.
details……

Lagos, Ikoyi Bay

I want to go home. Back to the Yoruba land where my family is from, where my ancestors are from. Back to where my pain is from. Back to where my so-called exotic roots were born.

Several times here I’ve mentioned the childhood sexual abuse in my past. I’ve found it very freeing to be able to talk about the fact that it happened, to not be the one who feels like I should be ashamed anymore. That shame was almost worse than the pain itself and the emotional after affects.

Some people don’t see what a big deal it is. And that’s okay with me, as long as they aren’t advocating that it happen to people, especially children. I’ve had male friends and lovers call me impure, or tainted, or damaged because of what happened to me, particularly after learning the horrifying extent.

The extent… the first three months after my family temporarily moved to West Africa, there was an incident almost every day. I was 9. I can’t remember most of what happened to me before I was 9 years old without some drama. In some cases there are years blocked out.

And so, I haven’t been back to Nigeria since 1984. I was born here, there seemed to be mostly pain there, so even for my only female cousin’s wedding, who is practically like a sister to me, I could not go back.

But now that time has passed, now that I have spent more than 20 years processing and healing, even though I still have night terrors, I want to go back. The earth calls to me, the sky writes my name.

There’s an opportunity for me to visit in January. I’m seriously considering staying there a year, because even if the economy is bad here, in Nigeria I could live off $500 – $1000 a month quite comfortably, and put all of the rest of what I make each month away. My sister will be there with her husband, who is like a brother to me, and their two kids. My mother will be there. And I’ll see my grandmother again before she passes on.

I would like to see home again. Though I consider myself an American, and was born and mostly raised here, I was brought up in the culture of our homeland. I’m a little afraid to go, to be a foreigner, essentially, who knows the national language of English, but isn’t fluent in the local language.

Still. I’m hoping…

I’ve already talked about this twice on my Obama blog. But I just can’t get enough of this video, and had to share it. I must watch it once a week.

Barack Obama IS a Super Hero. But only to the extent that we do our part, too.

I like to start a zillion things to study topics like how to make something go viral. And I thought you might want to take a gander at my Obama blog. I make several updates about five days a week.

The idea about is is to keep a watchful eye (how do you keep an UNwatchful eye?) on what is happening with the Obama camp in the mood and hold Obama and crew accountable by checking up on which promises they were able to keep, which were totally forgotten, which went exactly by the plan on his site, and which were blatantly abandoned for one reason or another. I also post pics there and have a laugh as often as possible.

I figure if he has a decent score card in four years, we re-elect him.

this.
has to stop.

I keep thinking it’s under control and that sane moments are prevailing and that eventually, maybe this one time, today, I will wake up and not love you. Because yesterday I was at least over the love letter enough to speak to you without telling you that I want to start a forever with you today. I thought I spoke very sensibly, and that while there was some aftermath of slicked thighs and caramel thoughts of skin pressed together, the logical conclusion for me was that this was lust.

not Love

which.
has to stop.

One love song.

One stupid, sappy, sentimental sensitive, sensory recollection embedded in a love song dissolved me back in time, salty tears mixing with the ocean of the love I hold inside for you.

One song and I’m ruined, progress discarded. I thought all the venting of my soul was supposed to help me reclaim my control, my dominance over my heart and my thoughts and my resolve not to pursue this until the time is right or maybe not at all.

Wait, when did I start saying “until the time is right” or “maybe” not at all? I can’t have these thoughts because they are blurring into fantasies I can’t handle and

that.
has to stop.

Then there’s the pining. Seriously, am I 12? I’m supposed to be in lust, so where is all this internal whining coming from? Why can’t I just get. a grip. And go back to the empty quiet life I had, slowly building an ice wall around myself in a comfy cool separation? How did you get back into my head?

And since when do I think about you when I’m not in bed? And why can’t I fight against my emotions, or at least just pretend that in the end I’ll

be able to
…stop …

photo credit: MM S

My big problem today – as if it’s a real problem! – is that we are falling into lockstep again. The synchronicity I so loved about us before. Having the same jokes. Thinking the same thing then saying it at the same time. Making the same innocent observations filthy. Being on similar paths.

Dammit. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Okay, I do know.

Let me not lie to myself right now. He’s such a great friend. He’s such a wonderful person to know and I don’t even think he realizes it. I tell him my secrets, knowing they won’t go anywhere. I really trust him, so even though I know I’ll be devastated if the possibility of a sorted affair in the future should not work out, I will never make the mistake of cutting him out of my life again.

And whoever he ends up with, I’ll be happy for him. It would be nice to see him really happy again. Is that normal, wanting someone for yourself but more wanting them to be happy even without you?

Anyway. The point is that I survived another day of interacting with him, without spilling my messy love-sick guts. I feel so completely ridiculous and happy at the same time. It’s as if I want to cushion the probable blow of having my feelings known and rejected with this period of indulgence. It’s crazy when feeling love for someone is better than any other possible high…. except for knowing they love you back, of course.

My main issue is trying to find ways not to plot to be around him. I want to go see him the first week of February. Which will seem like I’m in town for something else and ask to meet him because I’m in the “neighborhood”.

Ah, fantasy…

So yeah, I’m in love again if you haven’t noticed. I’m in a totally exhilarating, you-can’t-be-in-love Love, again.

If I was to go by people I know the best, people who fulfilled the promises they made to me, this would be the person closest to being the love of my life, the one who got away. If I’m being honest, the only reason I didn’t give him the crown before was that he was out of the realm of possibility, in that he was taken at the time I was doing my tally.

He’s not anymore, hasn’t been for longer than I would have thought.

But I have to call him a crush because I just can’t go there. And if by some miracle it seems that I can, at the very least not yet.

It’s not that new guy (we’re calling him Flame) is bad for me. It’s not that I’d be bad for new guy. Truthfully, thinking back I believe the only reason Flame and I are apart is circumstance.

The circumstances were these (why did they cancel Pushing Daisies?).

Number One:

I’ve been through a lot of turmoil in my life, and my main coping mechanism is to block things out. I avoid thinking about things that are painful, finding a distraction until they’re just gone. This can be good in the sense that I’m functional for that period of time. It helped me survive the part of my childhood that is peppered with sexual abuse.

So blocking out bad thoughts clearly it has its place, in terms of temporary survival tactics.

Still, it’s bad in that I mentally throw the baby out with the bath water, meaning I cease to think about six months or a year of my life and anyone who reminds me of that time period is essentially dead to me. I met him during a time of unforseen tragedy, and in forgetting that to get past it, I forgot about him.

I distanced myself, and in that time, he met someone else, who, by the time I invited him back into my life, he was in a serious relationship with. At the time, so was I.

Sometime around the time I became unentangled from my lover, so did he with his, unbeknownst to me, he was no longer with. By this time, we had started to become friends again.

So that circumstance has been overcome, it’s not like I’m going backwards out of nostalgia, adopting an old relationship with its old problems.

Number Two:

On top of my rock-em sock-em block-em robot issue, I find it extraordinarily hard to trust people.

Okay, not true. Obviously I trust “people” as a group, or I wouldn’t have my little lovefest here online. I find it hard to trust a person, an individual, a new friend. Though, nce I feel my trust has been earned, I’m loyal to a fault.

But since trust deepens over time, catch-22 here we come.

Trust is one of the primary components of love. So there’s that. I can’t even trust Flame enough right now to tell him that I’m still in love with him.

Shit Shit Shit

I’m still in love with him.

Now, that’s one parallel with my relationship with Droplet (the ex-fiance) that I’m not comfortable with. Of course, comparing the love I shared with Flame and the love I had with Droplet is like comparing a hot extra vanilla latte to instant coffee.

Still.

How Can I Still Be In Love With Him?

Better question – how could I have still been in love with him all this time and not known it? Answer – I buried it, apparently. As we talked about, I’m good at that. Too good.

I was initially just reminiscing about what it feels like to me, to truly be loved, in the aftermath of my break-up with Droplet, because I wanted to make sure I never settle for anything less than that again.

This last time I settled because I heard the words “Marry me”. Droplet never followed through with any of this promises related to asking for my hand, not one. And they weren’t outrageous promises mind you. But I held on because I thought, I’m 36. Who else is going to marry me?

My biological clock had just started ticking, and I had marriage/baby on the brain. So I did a lot of compromising, because I believe that’s what relationships are about.

Problem is, both parties have to compromise and he did not.

Anyway, back to how I came to realize I love Flame still.

I found this love letter he’d written to me. And it all came rushing back. Not the memories, or even the memories of the feelings, which is what normally happens.

The actual love.

I’m wandering into such dangerous territory. I can tell he feels that something is different between us, too. It seems he’s suddenly being freer when we speak, talking off the top of his head, before he felt a bit guarded.

And he seems to be reacting to me the same way he did before either of us would talk about what we were feeling the last time.

Which really scares the crap out of me. Unless I’m imagining/projecting all of that, which is even scarier.

Already losing my nerve to be resolute. Maybe I should just play it cool for now, get myself fly again, then fly out there for a short visit for the first part of February.

Shit Shit ShitshitshitSHIT shit. I can’t do this. I have to finish recovering- don’t I? He’s probably not recovered from his break-up yet. Even if he’s totally fine, I can’t just pounce on him now, out of… respect or something like that.

And … and.

Hm.

What were the other reasons again?

Shit.

I never noticed it until we were over but I always, ALWAYS write poetry every day when I’m in love and I didn’t with him. For my lover usually, but being in love? Normally opens me up creatively in general. I can make more products faster and get ideas at a pace it’s hard for my hands or lips to keep up with.

You don’t understand how close this new guy was to being the love of my life. We were great friends before it ever came to romance, although I’d say the attraction was immediate and electric upon our initial encounter.

By rights, of all the men I’ve ever loved, if we’d gotten our actual relationship underway he’d be closest to earning the title of soulmate. I’ve had that whole soulmate experience in about half the relationships I’ve been in, all the serious ones.

There’s just some kind of thing I know how to do, in building this empathic two-way bridge between me and another person.

When I’m truly in love, we sync up as a couple, mentally we have a link where we’re on the same wavelength and sometimes, full conversations without words. It goes beyond thinking the same thing at the same time to feeling each other’s emotions, to feeling a near-physical presence of the other person when they’re away.

It took me a while to realize that experiencing romantic love in this way is not normal to most other people.

I should have gone to him. I should have embraced him. I should have married him.

We’re going to call new guy “Flame” from here on out because I’m gonna be talking a lot about him. We’ll call my ex Droplet, since they’re as different as fire and water.

I initially felt that, because of some of the parallels of my relationship with Droplet to my near-relationship with Flame, that I’d be repeating the same pattern if enough time passes that Flame and I could get together.

For example:

I referred to my ex as my truest love. After further reflection and actually being with Droplet for extended periods, it turns out that Flame is much closer to this ideal if I’m being honest.

Droplet’s the first guy I’ve ever gotten back together with after having broken up. I have a rule about and it was a big mistake to go against it. He hasn’t changed, nor has he fixed what his issues were then that split us apart. In fact, our little honeymoon phase was over in about 20 weeks.

I work really hard to keep my relationships beautiful and loving to the last day. What I usually have as a relationship is the honeymoon phase to other couples, so you understand?

But what comparatively was our honeymoon phase would last the first year. That can’t-get-enough sex-every-day passionate you’re-my-crack feeling only JUST starts to get under control after a year. And even then we’re talking fade, not disappearance.

With Droplet, it evaporated. In 4 months.

And since he lied to me about just about every possible thing that made him that person who could have been my soulmate or love of my life, he loses that title.

There are similiaries in that Flame and I never got to be truly together as circumstance kept us apart.

But unlike Droplet and I, we had never truly started a relationship beyond declarations of love. We also didn’t have a point of failure we would be attempting to overcome. Tragedy struck, and I couldn’t be with Flame due to those circumstances. And since it involved him, he reminded me of it.

On the other hand, Droplet hurt me really badly, causing some of the circumstances that kept us apart.

So we wouldn’t actually be getting back together. We’d be starting out, going to try.

If I could bring myself to overcome my feeling about being with him. Which is just a whole other story.

I’ve been done with him long enough to know that I want the taste of you in my mouth like fresh honey. I can see your eyes every time I close mine. Falling under your spell

too
too
too

soon after this disengagement. Because I just don’t want you to be a rebound lover. I want to reach for you, apple of my high, sink my teeth into the delicious note of your apparition, still living in me. And I know I can’t have you, is the problem. I know it in every one of the molecules that collides within my body as they each scream your name.

I’ve not the faintest clue how to get you out of my system. Explain to me what makes someone sit around and read old correspondence over and over, smelling pages, draping paper across my arm as if I can squeeze your touch out of ink.

I can’t be like this. I absolutely cannot be like this. I cannot be brought to tears remembering the heat of your voice in my ear. Reason, sanity, unclouded straight-thinking – these are the things I ought to be clinging to, ought to be playing songs about and singing out loud. Songs like Slowly, Surely, I walk away from

but. Little “b” but. I can’t walk away from you, run, think, speak.

My first mistake was becoming friends. The first time you re-inhaled my voice I could hear the caution in yours. Like I’d be like danger to touch. Like our smoke meant fire. Like you knew better than to sip my poison.

And it would, is, does. That was the moment I swallowed any doubt that leaving him was right. And I didn’t know you were leaving her.

Yet from the first electric feather of your apprehension, I was back there again, back on my back drinking every word you ever said, letting you destroy me, recreated with your softly uttered syllables, whispering me into frenetic spasms that bordered on pain with their intensity.

How is it that I’m writing you again, writing poetry? – I can only write poetically, write poetry when I’m in love, with an idea, with a song with a

shit.

It is expressly forbidden to love you. I can’t even handle the idea that our skin might brush past each other in coming months. Or that our vocal vulnerability would waft in neighboring air. We can’t meet, ever again. Right now I’m losing control of myself, right now, thousands and thousands of miles split from you my heart wails a pattern in your chest, begging for release.

We must not be lovers. Both our worlds would cease in that shower of delight. And as the ebbing embers of each echoed eternity eventually eclipsed every elevation, all of the stars finger-painting in the sky would point at us

ending the world
ending the world
ending the world.

I just examine my manicure as if no one is speaking to me.

“You took an oath. I cant tell you what you want to hear.

“And no matter what you do, it won’t work. It can’t work. Because I will never — NEVER — tell you what you want to hear. Not ever.”

Blah blah blah. I can’t wait until this is finally over so I won’t have to hear this horribly annoying refrain.

Still saying nothing.

“So, uh, why don’t we work this thing out? There has to be something else you want just as much.

“A new car?

“Or how would you like to be a millionaire?”

Hm. Really. An even mill? I don’t know how I want to play this but-

“Oh, I see that made your eyes light up.

“I really can make that happen.

“I know you don’t think I can but you don’t know as much about me as you think. In fact, you can hold me here until you really have it, and then leave the country. ”

“We’re near the border – just knock me out. I wouldn’t wake up until you’d crossed it, and by then you’d have the money. In cash.

“Your eyes are betraying you. Come on.” Aaaaand the idiotic smile again. I wonder how hard it is to smile through that kind of agony?

“You know you want to work this out. Listen, no one has to know that you’ve kidnapped me.”

I look into the eyes of my lover. Really look. Search for the person I know is in there.

All I get a hard, blank stare. Have you ever known the person you’re trying to have a conversation with just isn’t in there?

And you know what that means. That means it’s almost time for me to get what I’ve always wanted. I lean forward, eye level with my captive. I smile so the words I am about to say will be the sweetest, deepest torture.

“Can you really make that happen?”

“I promise you I can. If not, I expect to die, and frankly, if I’m going to die I want to get the shit over with.” The eyes.

So eager.

How delicious.

I have to milk this. I clear my throat.

Leaning forward to hang on my every word? Stupid reaction. That betrays an expectant, attentiveness.

Oh yes, that’s your new name. The Fool.

“Well, guess what?” I reach down and trail my finger across the duct tape that was binding The Fool to the chair.

“What?” So says The Fool, smiling widely.

“The five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. And they are even more acute when the person you’re mourning is yourself.”

I could have an orgasm at the sound of these beautiful, abandoned sobs.

Yes. This is what I want.

That’s the start of the novel I decided to write five minutes ago. Don’t know if it’s the new beginning to a novel called “vengeance – a tale of half-crazed woman scorned” that I’ve already started, or a whole new novel. Thoughts?

(And no, it’s not a person with multiple personality disorder. It’s two people – the italics are to differentiate between narration and thought. I may just change perspective to third person to make it more clear.)

If you’re digging it, I’ll keep on writing it online all month.

Come on. Seriously.