I’m never giving myself the chance to commit to what I need to do. Such as this blog. It’s frustrating to see that the last time I wrote was so long ago. A little embarrassing, too. It makes me wonder what and where my time has gone because I sit here, after finally having forced myself to turn off the t.v., avoided clicking the Tom Waits playlist I’ve been listening to non-stop, and listen to the quiet. In a place I share with my sister and nephew after having moved out of my parent’s house after having moved back to the one place on this earth that I’ve been that I never though I’d move back to. Just write. My heart is begging my mind to cast forth these emotions through words because it just can’t contain them anymore.
I was startled into a conversation the other day. I initiated the phone call, don’t get me wrong, but was so suddenly called out upon some ulterior motive other than friendly curiousity and sincere hope for all things good for this person. I didn’t have an ulterior motive. At least I didn’t think I did. And now I feel pressured into a course of thought and emotion I tried so hard to tame and quiet when I moved back. I’d only just begun feeling okay with everything. Slowly regaining faith in that which I cannot control: other people. Life. Love.
If I’m honest with myself, I have been sorely missing this person lately. The smile, the laugh, the almost-unconscious opening of arms to let me slide in back under the covers, those eyes that saw something in me. He was most definitely my counter-point in this world, my other. We were dyadic.
We parted amicably, though heart-broken; recognition of two incompatible yet fundamental desires… I most definitely believe it’s more difficult to break up with someone you love and loves you than with someone you hate or has hurt you. It was just something we couldn’t compromise on; it would’ve turned into a sacrifice. Someday, on some unassuming weekday morning, one or the other would look up from breakfast or glance across the living room or catch the other’s gaze in the bathroom mirror while brushing teeth and would’ve felt resentment. ”This isn’t what I wanted.” We both knew this and we both admitted it.
And now it’s possible those desires have changed, maybe. With conditions. I never imagined I’d have to negotiate my ever-after. That meticulous planning had to be done and conditions had to be met before we could establish that next chapter of life.
The only other person with whom I’ve been in a somewhat similar set of emotional circumstances didn’t just ask me, but said it as if it were written in stone, to move back to Michigan. After having only been away for less than a year. And why, with all the love I still feel, the need I still feel for this person, is the only thing that I can’t swallow for it being stuck somewhere just above my heart is being told I could move back, this job might be over soon, we could get an apartment in the city, save some money, get married first of course, then…then…think about having the one kid.
I said I had to think about it. Even though I love you, still. It was so hard leaving there but I never expected to feel that same way about leaving here again. Is this what too late feels like? I’m afraid to say I can’t commit to any answer any time soon because I had become comfortable where we were. Comfortable with ‘some day’. But ‘some day’ after I got this all sorted. It hasn’t been enough time and it’s also been too much time.
I don’t want to give up on the idea of us…but I can’t give up on me, either. I wanted to give myself a chance to live my life, to get it figured out.
It felt late when I started this, now it really is late and I have an early morning. Should’ve begun sooner.
