Posts Tagged ‘contact’

Love Letters

March 19, 2019

To a ghost.

That’s what he feels like now.

Ghostly.

It is still painful, I just teared up thinking about him as I was having dinner.

Being ever so careful to make sure that my musical selection to accompany dinner was nothing that we ever listened to together or music that reminds me of him.

Let me say there’s a lot I’m not listening to.

Somethings are pretty safe and I have absolutely no affiliation with the music to him.

Mike Doughty, which is cool since I’ll be going to his show this Wednesday at the Great American Music hall, is one.

My French house music app Bon Entendeur is another.

Although occasionally, as it happened to me tonight, something will just drift in and remind me of my love.

Cue tears.

I’m not crying unless I’m writing about him or talking about him.

Or thinking about him.

Sigh.

I know it will pass but it still feels raw and sad.

I have been wanting to write him a letter, nothing that I will send, but I have this notebook full of love letters to him that I had hoped one day to give him.

A great big full hard bound notebook full of love letters.

I thought about sending it to him in the first week that we broke up.

But I told on myself and it was suggested that I not do that.

That would, in effect, be courting contact when I said no contact.

And yes, I’m not going to lie, I wish he would contact me.

But I have motives and desires and specific wants and he wasn’t able to give those things to me.

I can’t imagine that really has changed in three weeks and one day.

But yeah, sometimes, too  frequently to be attractive, I do have this dream that he calls me up or shows up at my house and tells me things have changed and we can be together.

It’s stupid and it just hurts my heart to entertain the thought, so I don’t, or I don’t try to let myself entertain the thoughts too often.

I have wanted to write out a letter though in the notebook, but I wanted to have passed through the anger and hurt and grief and betrayed feelings I have and just have it be a sweet and final goodbye.

Sure.

Not one he’ll ever see, but just the process of closure for me.

I also recognize that there is still this flame of hope that things will change and he’ll come for me and if I was writing in the notebook I’d be somehow flaming that fantasy.

He’s not coming back.

Move on.

I haven’t been able to write poetry.

I think it would just hurt too damn much and I’m barely hanging in there.

Of course.

I have to mention I’m tired and the grief sneaks in when I am tired.

I was up this morning at 5a.m. to take my car over to Berkeley to get an oil change at my Fiat dealer at 7a.m. and I wanted to make sure that I had enough time to get over the bridge with traffic.

I got there with plenty of time to spare and ate my breakfast and drank coffee in my car waiting for the dealership to open.

So it’s been a long day and when it’s a long day and the tired hits the emotions do too.

Plus, I didn’t really have a day off yesterday.

I had to grind hard on a big paper that I’d been working on for a few days and really get it done.

I can’t remember a paper that I’ve spent this much time working on before, but such is life while pursuing a PhD.

Big, tough, all-consuming papers will happen.

I got it done, my laundry, met with a ladybug, met with my person, did food prep and cleaned my house, finished the huge paper and sent it out.

I did not have a day off.

So just diving right into my week by having to get up at 5a.m. to get the oil change was not how I wanted to start my week, but I am grateful its done.

I didn’t want to risk going too long with the oil change light coming on and the dashboard lighting up and telling me I needed an oil change every time I started the car.

It’s done.

The big paper got turned in last night and I’m already at work on another paper for another class that’s due this Thursday.

Fortunately, this second paper is more in align with what I like to write and I was able to get a lot of it done at work and I spent an hour in a cafe after work writing too before I went to do the deal.

And all along.

He was in my mind.

I stumbled upon an old text chain I didn’t realize was on my phone.

Said text corresponded to when I started writing him the love letters in the notebook.

He told me in one of the texts he wanted to read those letters.

(God damn his texts were always so freaking sweet)

Honestly.

I want him to as well.

They are beautiful letters.

I write a nice letter.

Not to brag, I just do.

But no contact means no contact and they’re just going to sit here on my desk for a little while yet.

I have written him a lot when I think about it, heaps of cards, post cards, love letters, poems.

I could probably put together a chapbook of the poetry I’ve written about him.

Maybe one day I’ll figure that out.

Right now though.

I’m not writing him any letters, outside of the ones I compose in my heart and keep in my heart, to him.

I can’t bear to yet.

I just can’t.

I want to stop missing him first.

Otherwise I’ll just keep breaking my heart over and over and over again.

I don’t think I can handle anymore broken heart.

I’m too damn tender right now.

Too heart sore.

Too sad.

I miss him too much.

Too damn much.

 

A Time I Will Never Forget

September 1, 2018

I am appropriating your words again, my love.

You renamed something of ours.

It was appropriate.

The re-naming.

I approved.

I responded.

I know.

No contact.

I don’t know that you saw it.

But.

I hope that you did.

And I said.

“Nor will I, my love.”

Nor will I.

I can’t forget that time, our time.

The city we were in.

The heat.

The warmth of you next to me on the stoop in Brooklyn.

Our picnic that I put together.

The way the day’s sun had warmed the cement, the call of the birds settling in the trees.

The same birds that would awaken us in the morn.

They seemed to call to me.

Here.

Now.

Be with him.

And I gave myself to you.

I have no regrets.

In the giving I was given to.

The sacred radicalism of our love.

The driver the night before as we came over the bridge from one borough to the next.

She asked us if we were married.

We weren’t.

But you know.

We were.

We are.

Married and joined in some other way.

I felt betrothed to you.

I still do.

I write about that sometimes.

I haven’t told you that.

I still write your name, in its fullness, in my morning pages, and that I am married to the great love of my life.

Then.

Yes.

I list all the places we will travel to.

Places we have already been.

But will need to go back and reclaim.

And places that we will go to.

And make them ours.

Today I was in such a place.

Out by the sea.

Rockaway Beach.

It is not a particularly luxurious spot.

There is something rough and redneck about it.

And yet.

As I ate my three egg omelet at the table in the cafe while I watched the ocean come in and go out, I could not stop thinking of you.

I could see us in the hotel room where I am staying.

Alone.

My room-mate never showed for the intensive.

I could see you and I here.

Together.

Then in the cafe later, having a very late breakfast, drinking too much coffee, making plans to build bonfires at the beach.

Telling each other stories from our rebellious youth.

I could see your face across the way.

So real.

I teared up.

I cried over my three egg with cheese and bacon omelet.

Then.

Damn the music sometimes.

One of the songs that you put on my dance card came over the sound system.

REALLY?

I thought.

Really.

Now.

In this moment.

Right now as I am figuring out the tip for the waitress.

She wasn’t great but she’s my waitress and she’s going to get at least 20%.

Once a waitress.

Always a waitress.

And that song.

Not even a recognizable Elvis song, or an obvious heartbreak song.

Just something to dance to.

Remember.

When you made me that playlist.

And we went to the beach.

It wasn’t the best time at the beach.

I think we actually fought.

But we made up.

We always made up.

I wish we were making up now.

Instead of being nostalgic for another time.

A past time.

A memory that grows, though not distant, removed.

I miss you baby.

I wish I was making more memories with you instead of trying to reconcile not being with you.

I wish I was writing you poetry that you would actually read.

I wish you had been next to me, not just at the cafe.

But at the beach.

I saw the plume of a whale spout.

Then a humpbacked breached.

I gasped a loud and reached for your hand.

I almost fell off the damn rock I was sitting on.

Reaching for something that is not there.

Grief.

Yes.

Grief.

For a time I will never forget.

For a man I will always want.

For a love that is not mine to have.

But.

I had it anyway.

And no one can take that away from me.

Not anyone.

Now.

Or.

Ever.

Wide Awake

November 1, 2014

I knew I was going into dangerous territory and I did it anyway.

I had an energy drink.

I cannot recall the last time I had one, granted it was sugar-free, I am still rocking that no sugar thing, but it was highly caffeinated.

More so than I have been in some time and I should be in bed, should be sleeping, should be making out, should be doing something.

However, I have been dropped off and left to my own devices.

Which is fine.

Strange.

Not exactly how I thought tonight would end, but not uncomfortable, just curious.

Things don’t have to go the way I think they should or might for them to be exactly perfect.

Tonight was exactly perfect.

Meaning everything happened for a reason.

Everything didn’t happen for a reason.

There was some awkwardness tonight on the date, and it could have been any number of reasons, being out in a large group of people, it’s Halloween, we are seeing each other for the third time in one week, expectations, who knows.

There was a lack of connection, a wall went up, and I wondered, what did I do wrong?

Then I realized, what ever is happening, or again, not quite happening, almost, but the reservation, the distraction, it wasn’t something I was doing, it was just what it was.

Life.

Dating.

Humanity.

It was quiet.

It was restrained.

There was a space, and better, better described, there was a space between, although, again, the drawing in, that weakening at times.

I actually wished we were alone to just keep being around one another.

I felt awkward and I realize that a lot of that had to do with the venue, a big dance party with a lot of people is challenging, and we are new at being around one another.

I also recognized something tonight that I was already doing without realizing it, not taking action around dating in general, more than one person, I was told to get out there with a bunch of guys.

Not mess around so much, but date more than one person.

It’s been a one person week.

And maybe that’s too much focus on one man.

Although I cannot fathom kissing anyone else.

Riding home tonight there was a lot of silence.

I didn’t feel uncomfortable with it, curious, but not so much so that I felt I needed to plumb some psychological depths, not my place, not my desire.

Quiet time, a quiet moment, can be just as loud as a brisk conversation, much can be said.

I felt finally drawn in as we drifted down Lincoln Ave, hand in hand, my head on his shoulder, watching the sky flash by, the tree tops, the bottoms of the clouds glazed with light from the street lamps, a scrap of cloud, the moon smothered behind low clouds dropping into the horizon.

There is a magnetism I feel with this man, and also a push a way, a step back, a pausing that I was standing still for, waiting to see what would happen.

I want more.

I need more time.

Time to sit.

Time to hold hands.

I already know I want to sleep with him, that I don’t feel is the question, it’s the space between.

The languor in my skin and the tightening of muscles in my arms, the electric pull, where there are no thoughts or doubts, just connection.

And if there is not space for that, then there shouldn’t be space for anything further.

I should pause.

Let the room breathe, let myself breathe, move easy, thick, honey slow, open up, see what is unfolding, make no judgements or myself, my process, of the learning that is happening.

“You go on dates to learn,” he told me. “Not about him, but about you.”

What have I learned?

That this thing is hard.

That being drawn to someone is real and illusive all at the same time.

Raw and intimate.

And then distant and distracted.

I cannot know another’s thoughts or desires and I am learning what mine are.

I want to be wanted.

I can see that.

I want to be beautiful and desired.

What woman does not?

I want to be with a partner.

I don’t want to write that.

It feels like a jinx.

But that’s what I went into the bathroom to pray for, direction, guidance, how to show up for him and be of service to the situation.

I wasn’t sure I even needed to pee when I went to the bathroom, but I felt confused and needed to just take a moment and breathe and sit quietly and ask for direction.

How do I show up and be myself and not push for something more than is available?

How do I bring without taking or expecting.

I surrender.

I had a wonderful date.

It really was good.

Don’t let me fool you into thinking that I didn’t have an awesome time.

It was just different from I expected and that’s ok.

I don’t need to figure it out.

I danced.

I laughed.

I had some wonderful food and saw friends that I don’t get to see very often.

I held hands and kissed a man I am deeply attracted to.

There was more silence than I expected, but that doesn’t mean things weren’t communicated.

Things were.

I understand.

And there is nowhere to go, no conclusion to have, no outcome to be forced.

I spent time with someone I like, at the end of the day, at the end of the song when there is just the final note fading off, a reverberation of feeling, my head on his shoulder, holding hands, driving down Lincoln Avenue with the wash of deep indigo sky and the ragged black of eucalyptus trees swaying in the air blowing by.

There was intimacy.

Touch.

Contact.

And that is rare.

Uncommon.

Fine.

I don’t need to ask for more than that.

Even when I wanted more kisses at the end of the night.

There is something to be said for leaving wanting more.

And I have a feeling.

More will be revealed.

It usually is.

 


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