An old journal entry. I was already asking myself whether I should let it go. I wouldn’t stop asking for another couple of years.
He was my escape, though, from life.
I’m so hurt and stressed by the conditions of my family. I tire from the day-to-day completely revolving around maintaining and running my household. When I’m with X, I can forget I can breathe and not think. Nothing is expected of me. He takes a weight off. I’m distracted and lost in his banter. A comfort away from a home that has been taken over by angst and anger.
His place is quiet, hidden. Tucked away in the basement of the building. Nothing affects me here with him. For that moment.
That’s why I crave to see him often. I’m in need of escape.
X and I are having relationship issues, and we are not even in a relationship.
He won’t speak his truth unless it comes out of my mouth first. He does not express himself, rarely shares a thought. We don’t trust each other, and we’re both prideful, so it’ll be a sluggish game. I refuse to beg someone to speak up for themselves or to express their truth.
Why do men think I’m some fragile being that can’t handle the truth?
I usually know the truth or can figure it out with questions and reading body language. It always surprises me how unaware people are about other people, as if they’ve never encountered a person who paid attention to them.
I get by with simply studying my person. With time, you may not have the details, but you’ll know another fairly well. People rarely surprise me.
I did not want to get feelings involved. I disappoint myself for being weak and allowing it. I crave connection so much I cave for the idea of it.
I need space from him. This is too much. I should not be expected to care, to try to fix or mend anything. We are not together, and we won’t be. What is there to hold on to?
I know he’s not the one.
I also question my habits and challenges. To sever connection, to run away from things that feel good. To ignore my feelings because surely they are illogical and not to be trusted.
Then I think feelings, too, are information. I convince myself to sit through it, be in it, alchemize it.
I know I could commit to the right man. I feel things should naturally align. Maybe I’m like X and floating around only to end up disappointed where I end up. Are my standards too high? Do I not hold space for the human in others as I don’t with myself? I know I don’t.
The dualities in me are clashing. Who I’ve become from my pain and hurt. I realized I’ve allowed the world to stiffen the exterior of my heart.
I am saddened, ashamed, and embarrassed. I want to accept myself, be gentle. I need answers to questions I don’t even know.
I don’t know what to believe anymore.
I just wanna write poetry and be wild. I want to be soft in love. I want to dance and make love every day.
I was a mix of sweet and abrasive. My truth once again went over his head. He thinks I’m in love with him. He said something that affected my pride. He’s sure I’ll be back.
The drive home was void. I couldn’t help feeling uneasy beholding that this is all there is to us. We enjoy each other’s company and have passionate sex.
It was truly fun while it lasted, but as summer comes to an end and the leaves turn psychedelic, I feel the idea of us has run its course.
This was a lovely summer lovin that I deserved.
X was healing, but summer burns me.
My intentions aren’t pure with X anymore. I am no longer moving out of love. I don’t want as close of a relationship with him. I want to have sex and enjoy myself with a handsome man. I don’t want an emotional connection with just anybody. It would be foolish to let myself attach to a season.
It’s difficult when he’s full of questions. I know it’s a defense to avoid talking about himself and a tool he uses to woo his ladies, but it feels so good to imagine. And I desire conversation.
I’m usually the one asking the questions. I’d be foolish to think we’re asking each other questions for the same reason.
Maybe I don’t need to end our situation. But I do need a break to sort some things out.
