It was PM for him and AM for me; we were Skyping, Lara and I, and he was being such a pussy.
I hate feeling vulnerable around you, around anyone, and I hate that I treat you the way I do. You know me so far deeply than anyone I've ever let in, and yet intimacy scares the crap out of me. I don't treat you right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I had whispered comforts and murmured "It's okay," but it's been 3 weeks and I cannot stop thinking about what he said.
I had always assumed he didn't care. We don't talk regularly, not really, skipping around the texting and the Skyping, never physically present. But I always checked and I always reached out. I'm always the one reaching out.
Walked him through his first long-term girlfriend, his rebounds, and now his present girlfriend. Walked with him through family issues and sister troubles. I was there but he wasn't, not like I was, and I was growing okay with that. I always end up being okay with that.
Sometimes I walk around with a little fantasy in my head
Of the people I'll meet, the people I've said
Sometimes I'll get these deep urges to journal and to write
and I'll print pictures and pictures and pictures of the things I love
and the things
Midnight in Paris, 2011
But these urges are becoming few and far between
and I wonder if that means my last few relationships with creativity
is leaving me.
And soon I was the only one standing, and I was blind. Someone - Matthias? - grabs my hand, "Come down here" and I finally settle. But I'm still blind. I grope blindly for my glasses; why can't I see what everyone else sees?
"Can you see the stars?" Yes, I lie, but all I can see is the heavy weight of the night and smell of dimmed sun. I can't see the brilliance of the stars.
So I give up,
close my eyes,