I have not spoken to G since the visit. I don't know whether this makes me happy or sad. It feels okay. It feels better, to not hear from him. My heart, it breaks like a smear on the pavement. Long and drawn out and messy. I wonder if he has feelings. Some of the things I say to him just slip out, and I know, later, when I think about them, it's intentional cruelty to see if he reacts. He never does. ~ He handed me two books. One I don't remember, the other was the first book of Dune, beaten and dog-eared, though I doubt he's ever read it. Probably left at his house after a party. "Two books? You only have two books in your house?" I say incredulously. I laugh, but it's not a funny sound. "How the hell did I ever sleep with you?" He shrugs. Is his smile brittle? I can't tell. Does he care what I say? What I think? It's hard to tell. ~ His words rattle around in my head. His breath, I can still feel the ghost of it on my cheek. "You are exquisite." "Stop torturing yourself with him," says Lisa's voice, and I know she's right. I always wanted to live a life of strong passions and fiery affairs. "You need to be touched." I just never thought it would actually happen, or how much it would hurt. ~ I read a good quote yesterday. I can't remember who it was by. "Love is a fire, but whether it will warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell." I feel on fire. I lay in bed, sleepless, in my nest of wool blankets. I pretend I am elsewhere. I pretend I am in one of the stories I write. I pretend I am not me, and there is someone who is not G laying next to me. But I always wake up alone. ~ I worry that I will never feel again what I feel with G. The good parts, I mean. The fire, the words. I miss the talking. I miss the fighting, to a point. I don't miss the jealousy and the suspicion. I hated it. I hated the way I couldn't control it. I hated the way it consumed me on the inside. Me, soft hippie easy-going me, turned to a fiery green-eyed monster. Oh, love. How I hate you. . Rosie.
Before&After
|