July fourth, my birthday, your birthday, labor day weekend, thanksgiving, for all these days I’ve missed him, holding my peace. Tomorrow will be Christmas Eve and the next day Christmas. I will probably miss him then too. Then of course New Year’s Eve, when he will be up north kissing a girl who doesn’t ache for him, like I ache for him. I’ll probably be kissing someone too, someone who will taste sour to me for the simple reason that He is not Him.
For the last eleven days I have gone to bed every night talking to him across the sea. I talk to him online as well and I’ve let him know twice that it would be OK to call. Bu he doesn’t call He isn’t a phone person. Knowing this doesn’t make it any less annoying, by the way. So for these eleven nights I have wanted to say that I love you. If he actually called me I’d be a wreck, falling all over myself with words that are too true in my head and so common when spoken out loud.
The mushiness makes me nauseous. It’s not unfounded like some love-sick contrite bitch, it’s really something. We have good conversation, have a lot in common, fight to the death and still manage to never go more than two weeks without contact in seven months. To be frank–we’ve only had good sex twice, as far as I’m concerned, and I still think the world of him, so how’s that for real love?
I know he’ll never really love me back though, not until I’m gone. Not until I’m out of the picture for good, with some other man. He says he ‘likes me’ unless he’s drunk when it changes to love or in love, but the next day when the drink is finally pissed from his system, he’s all apologies and reaffirmations that he meant like.
The fact that all those pertinent days passed without hearing from him is proof enough he doesn’t return my affections. Still he’s only ever ignored me once and that was the night I told him I slept with two other guys since the last time we were together. We weren’t officially ‘together’, but only in the same place physically. Very physically. We had a huge blow out via text then I asked if he hated me. He didn’t respond until two weeks later when he drunk dialed me when I was on my way home in a cab to tell me that he’s in love with me.
He gives me butterflies. Every. Time. Every IM, text, drunk dial. Every time we see each other, I just love him. I want to fall to the ground and cry because I’m scared it will always be the last time. He’s said we aren’t a good fit. I’ve said so. I lied. I hope he did too though I doubt it. How is it possible for him to admit still liking me after seven months and in the same breath say that we are ill-suited? He’s going to break my heart a hundred more times until I stop thinking about him when I masturbate.
