I deleted everything I typed before this single sentence.
Maybe it's timing, exhaustion or a sheer lack of context that I lack, but I can't seem to articulate exactly what I want to say.
This year has been in flux. I am emotionally devoid, romantically nonexistent and altogether mentally elsewhere. My focus has narrowed drastically. Sometimes I fear I have become altogether self-consumed and yet I keep repeating, "Why shouldn't I be?". For a change. For a few moments.
In the deepest corners of my thoughts, I miss being consumed with romantic fervor and the attachment that ensues when two become involved. Instead I have passing idle crushes that bleakly register as attraction and then are as quickly forgotten. I am interested in that connection that happens when two people look at each other and know. And yet for all of these stolen moments and cinematic captures of eye contact, I can only blurrily recall those which ever amounted to actual physical manifestation. I have come to esteem this small, indistinct gesture far too highly. But I insist that these prolonged stares, the gazes, the exchange of such a discreet form of mutual attraction and curiosity could someday mean more. I know that I am wrong now.
I can see still see him searching my eyes with his. This happened often. In his bedroom, at the bar, across a table while I awkwardly ate sushi that I pretended to like just to sit there with him. Four seconds. Maybe a few more. I felt the exchange. It was never anything but something to me. I closed my eyes and turned away. I always turn away first. Maybe it's a sign of my insecurity. Maybe just a ploy to see who wants who the most. I am unsure. Shyness tip-toeing into the corner of my eyelids, a well rehearsed delay.
It's been a long four years that I've spent alone. The refrigerator stocked with bottled water hums in my bedroom. A collection of make up on the table adjacent. Clothes hung, clothes strewn. The evidence of a woman living a life alone in the cotton underwear that makes up a drawer that should have lingerie. It's hard to imagine what it would be like to live with anyone ever again. Distant daydreams. Harsh realities.
Perhaps better to stay in line with the present.
and if i should come to be relieved,
would it be without you?
.
.
