Oh, love.
February 01, 2013 - 3:54 p.m.

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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.

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