Well, shit

he told me today that they broke up (again) and my breath caught in my chest.

that sorta ups the ante. not sure how i feel about that.

Dear You,

I think about you, you know. Often. Too damn often, with regards to how often I actually see you. After I kiss some other guy, I'll later think of you. How that kiss was nothing like kisses with you. How I just spent several hours talking to some guy who was just waiting for me to finish my sentence so he could talk some more. You always wanted to hear what I had to say. I mean, even tonight, we were just texting, and you were far more attentive to what I was saying via text than this dude was in person.

And it's always that way. Everyone is always held to the bar you created, ever since I met you. Even before we were actually together.

I still love you. There, I said it. I only get brave enough to just fucking say it when I've had a few drinks. Yeah, that's where I am, now. I have to drink to be honest with myself and to be really honest with people that haven't known me long. Even people that have known me long, I still keep things from them. I told you everything, because I knew you wanted to know everything, even the shit that made me imperfect. God, how I loved you and you loved me. I ruined it all. He ruined it all. And I let him. So I ruined it all. One of my good friends, he tells me what this guy did was actually sexual assault. But he was my friend so I labeled it a misunderstanding. It's funny, these guys you think are "nice guys," how they'll disrespect you when they know your wishes, then turn it around like you were in it together. But that's neither here nor there. I've had some beers so I'm going off on irrelevant tangents. Apologies.

Today I texted you. I was reading old journals for the first time in a long time. I read about my love for you. I read things you did and said and ways you made me feel. I forced myself to forget some really wonderful stuff, so that it wouldn't hurt me. But there it was on paper, forcing those memories back up. I asked how you were. We talked vaguely a little. Discussed a couple songs. Then, out of nowhere, you say, "You know you're terrific, right?" And I say, "I certainly don't feel that way, so I appreciate you saying so. Especially since I hold your opinions in very high regard. You're pretty terrific yourself." You replied, "Thanks, that makes me feel fantastic. I really hope we don't stop talking." I said, "Well we'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen." You said, "Agreed. It's quite simple really." You followed up with, "I keep expecting you to want me out of your life. I'm worried I remind you of bad times." I wonder how you could even think such a thing. By this time I know you're asleep, but I want you to have something when you wake up, so I reply with the truth, "I'm worried of the same for you. For me, it's quite the opposite."

I wonder, if you could possibly still love me. I wonder when you say things like that. Things that mirror my thoughts. Because I still love you. That's how my still loving heart thinks. I wanted to write you an email instead of this blog entry that you won't see, because no one knows this exists. But I thought better of it, because I'm always thinking better of things. The truth is, you have a girlfriend. I cannot, in good conscience, confess anything when you have a girlfriend. Plus, I'm a little under the influence, and I know you deserve better than an email written by a moderately drunk me. You deserve fireworks and movie scenes.

Well. I still love you. I don't know what else to say. There's no way to conclude this, because I'm not really taking any action. This will just be put into the abyss of the internet. I'm sorry I can't be more than that, right now. I feel like if you were single, I might have just drove to your house after you told me that. And maybe I would have been shot down, you'd tell me you just really valued my friendship. But that'd be better than living with my maybes. Maybe then I could truly move on instead of waiting for my big second chance, make-believing that you still, somewhere deep down, love me. I don't know if I'm fooling myself or not. Only one way to find out. But I can't do it yet.

And the truth is...

I'd like to fall in love again.

But I'm not sure I'll let myself.

please don't drop bombs on me, i beg of thee

Welp. It's Sunday.

This weekend, a friend/former boyfriend came up to visit. I smelled trouble from the get-go but, eh. The main plan was to get very, very drunk. I'm sure we do this because we're just oh-so-tortured in the cells of our brains when we're sober. Blah blah blah. On Friday, we started drinking at about 2:30 in the afternoon. We took the train into the city, got dinner, went to a bar, did an obscene amount of walking. It was nice out. My mood started off gloriously. I love the city and I love showing it to people. But as the night wore on, other things happened.

We missed our train by about 3 minutes, so we had to wait an hour for the next one. Early in the wait, he went in for a kiss. I stopped him and straight up told him it was a bad idea, that I know he gets emotional and attached and I'm not there. He said it was too late for emotional and attached but I kept the line drawn and he respected that. Then, we slowly sobered up and conversation went a sad route. You know, the usual, discussing our self-sabotaging, disappointments, romanticism, and how none of it actually matters in the grander scheme. Oh, being 20-something.

After such a dismal train ride, we decided getting completely hammered was the only way to bring the night back to where it needed to be. So we went to my favorite local bar and started our run with tequila. We were wildly successful, then went home and went to bed. The next day we were lazy until later. We went back into the city, had dinner, drank some wine & beer, saw an improv show, then went back to my apartment for more wine. I downed an entire bottled, single handedly, probably within an hour and a half at most. I was very drunk by that point, lying on the carpet and listening to my favorite band. Then he made the move, and I was drunk enough to consent. I'm sure you know what happened next so I'll spare the details.

Waking up was... whatever. A warm body is nice enough but bitterness instantly followed. I tried not to be bitter because frankly I should have known better, but still. I affirmed that it meant nothing and it was best forgotten about. Surprisingly enough, he agreed that was probably for the best. We got food, I took him to the train, he awkwardly kissed me goodbye and told me he loved me. I did not reciprocate.

I am tired of being this girl, and also not. I'll admit, I sort of like this careless drunk I become sometimes, because I like being a little out of control, and I like the way it tears down my walls a little, because I have a lot of love but I usually shade it for reasons that escape me after a few glasses of wine. I don't, however, like waking up in the morning with cold indifference for the person next to me. I'm not even saying I want to be in love with everyone I wake up next to, but I'd like to at least like the idea when I'm sober, too.

Meh. I'm sort of a train wreck on paper, but I don't feel much of it. I do feel my wind escape me when someone in particular crosses my mind. But I shoo it away. Sometimes I consider what would happen if I laid it all out. It'd be very romantic and sincere, to be certain, and it probably wouldn't even fall flat. But in due time, it'd fall apart, which would be more painful. Maybe someday the time will be right, but it's still not now. And I'm far from where I want to be.

I had a pretty good weekend. On Friday I had a good time and met cool new people and got to know someone that's been around for a while.

Today was okay. This evening brought me back down to a lesser level. First of all, the person I got to know this weekend, we have a mutual close friend. Much of our bonding involved discussing the strangeness and complexity of our relationship with that friend, and how little sense it made. Tonight, I was talking to that friend, and just came to such a sad realization. He'll never actually appreciate my friendship. I've always made all the effort. I always visit. I always wonder how he is and want to hear about his life. He never makes the effort. He never visits. Maybe he sometimes wonders how I'm doing, sometimes he wants to hear about my life or maybe just takes pity on the fact that I need to talk to someone about it. Sometimes he'll actually confide in me, but christ, why do I still try?

Other news: the infamous "he" talked to me tonight, too. His girlfriend apologized for wrong doings and they're back on track. I almost laughed when he told me. Laughed at myself. For my stupid fluttering heart being struck the fuck back down where it belongs. For the reality check I obviously needed. For history repeating. And for me not seeing it coming. Whatever.