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I didn’t know how I’d react to you when I saw you. You were sitting and reading, at a social gathering. It didn’t surprise me.

“Look at you, with your hipster glasses!” I hugged you and noticed how thin you’d gotten. Your shoulder blades were protruding, I felt them against my forearms as I wrapped them tightly around you. I thought you must’ve been stricken with that gastric issue again, I worried about the stress it must’ve caused you, but my thoughts jumped to how hugging you felt like coming home, familiar, friendlier than I’d expected to feel. Let bygones be bygones, I guess.

I thought of my current relationship and how I’d bring it up to you, but I know it didn’t happen. We whisked away, our arms still wrapped around one another, down the stairs, into a space where we could talk. Smiles, laughter, and a kiss. I didn’t expect that kiss, what did it mean? Who was I? Why didn’t I tell you about my relationship, did I even want to?

I woke up. I shifted, but then realized what I was doing and tried not to move. ‘If I move, the dream will end and he will be gone. I don’t want him to be gone.’

He was still there when I returned. His form was athletic again, he was fit as ever, dressed in dark blues. We were in a complex that was his, we were talking outside. I don’t know what we were talking about, I just remember the image of him sitting on the trunk of a car. It felt like we weren’t together, and like he still didn’t know about my relationship.

There was an image of my boyfriend. He was saying, “I’ll go, if C isn’t there.”

I thought about this dream all day. I don’t wonder how you’re doing, but I still wonder how it turned out the way it did. I still feel the addictive grip of the passion and the hollow pangs of the disillusion. I feel how I aged so rapidly from the heartbreak and the sudden recovery from the denial that we would not get our epic love story, where we finally ended up together after a decade of disconnects. Is it the allure of that story that still breaks my heart?

The last man I ever wrote a poem for

Don’t think I haven’t noticed that I haven’t written a poem for another man since our 3-month anniversary.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed that sex is also different now; full of self-doubts and mental obstacles that require too much energy to overcome.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed that I just don’t love the same. I haven’t stared into someone’s eyes for the sake of staring and I don’t believe I will ever call someone a soulmate again.

But don’t think I don’t know that I deserved better than how you came to the decision you made.

I held their wrists and felt an energy course through me, out of me, and into all 3 of them. It was electricity into their bloodstreams. The positioning of our arms formed a square.

What I was sending them were images, memories, a flood of emotions from the past. There was exhilaration, agony, and hurt. The last one was for him to know. I looked at him with intent. I felt calm and I felt sorry. I just wanted him to know what it was like when he told me he couldn’t do it anymore. Not to hurt him, but for him to finally understand what it meant for me.

And I’m still not sure what it means for me for him to know what it meant for me.

We all released each other’s wrists and the flurry of images stopped. He and I now sat next to each other. We were wearing the same outfits we wore to the garden in New Orleans. Debi kept an eye on me from an adjacent table.

Facing me, he leaned against me and put his forehead against mine. He put his hand on the back of my neck as he sobbed and spoke to me. He cried, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

I don’t remember if I said anything, but I felt like he finally did understand. I feel like he finally experienced the breakup I experienced,

the falling apart of our fate,

soulmates, our destiny,

ten years of anticipation,

our friendship renewed and revoked,

our future at it’s end…

and that was different.

once or twice, and never

I dreamt that we had slept together, once or twice. I remember the lighting. Warm, not too dim.

I couldn’t remember if it had really happened. “I couldn’t have done that, I would never do that to her.” I thought to myself. But then I’d have flashes of the lighting run through my mind, and some recollection of words exchanged about what had happened, so I told myself, “Well, it will never happen again. If she never finds out, it is like it never happened.”

I imagined it happening again though. It felt like something that couldn’t be stopped, that I might not be able to resist.

I stood there at the edge of it, where my current heartbreak had blasted away a significant part of the wall protecting my... well, my hope, really. I glared down at the ravine past loves had cleaved into my chest and I let out a battle cry. I had considered rebuilding that wall, but, honestly, what good would reinforcing that do for me? “Fuck those guys, and most especially fuck C,” I thought to myself. Am I the girl who rebuilds the wall?

I’ve been asking myself that ever since R stomped on my naivete in high school and I finally have my answer. No, I am not that girl. I’m not building a wall to keep anyone out, because I think I’ve realized that it really only keeps me in. I’m content with my view of this ravine. It’s carved into MY chest, isn’t it?? And I love who I am, even if you don’t understand me, C, or if you didn’t understand me, S. Thank you for the memories, thank you for the ravine, permanent scars that carried me to this, my rightful place without any of the likes of you, or anyone who should remind me of the carelessness that allowed such destruction to my chest in the past.

Right now, I find it difficult to feel anything but disconnect and disgust when I think of you, C. I felt the closest to you, the safest with you, and you were a greater stranger to me than any of them were.

Precarious

I’m floating in the weightless space of purples, magentas, and red where our love existed. Our bodies are levitating because this was the safe space where nothing could hold us down. I lay on my back and you on your stomach. The strands of my hair flow together as though I were underwater. I’m not underwater, but I hold my breath; I don’t want anything to change. The air is still and silent.

I have one arm resting across my belly, the other is extended. You’re not far.

My fingers reach out to touch your hand.

They crackle when we touch. My mind buzzes. The colors around us dull. I realize that I am not holding my breath. I am suffocating.

A part of me has been destroyed. I can’t feel it anymore. I fix my gaze onto you and I scan your face for a sign of life. Your sad eyes look into mine (“I’m sorry I let you down”) and there is no sign of life. I am hollow.

You’re not really there. The only part of you I can actually touch is a sense memory, and the only part I can actually feel is the hole left in my chest. The biting air sits on the raw, exposed crevice. (“Nothing changes about the way I feel. I still love you.”)

I want to look away from you, from those sad eyes, but I’m afraid that if I look away for even one moment, you will be gone, and I need just two more moments with you. I need them to last forever, like you promised.

Remember that feeling? I remember every day. I remember the things you said to me and how I lived in our cloud of electricity, always within the pull of gravity. Your words kept me grounded while your thoughts took you away, and now I’m in this cloud alone. I’m floating and reaching in every direction and you’re not there. You’re a thousand miles away. You didn’t want me near. You didn’t want me. When I try to inhale, I make a sharp gasping sound. The pain in my chest is ineffable.

I shouldn’t feel this confused. I wish I could set this cloud ablaze so it could lose its hold on me, but it already burnt down. It’s not even here and the only place I can float with you is in the hollows of my mind, and the hole in my chest stings.

I need two moments, I need two moments. One to feel your face against mine, and another to squeeze your hand tight. Just give me two moments, just two moments. One to know what went wrong and another to make it right. I need two moments, please, two moments, just to make it through one more night.

The red begins to glow brighter, swirls of pink and lavender dance around my face. I close my eyes for one moment, clutching my chest where I feel the searing pangs of our helplessness. When I look back, you are gone, as I feared you’d be. (“You would never lose me over something like that, Katherine.”)

After waiting ten years to see if we could work together, you didn’t want to waste any time actually trying to make it work, did you?

The Prince of Cups

The Prince of Cups kept his true face hidden from the Princess of Swords as he kissed her underneath the light of The Moon.

He showed her what a romantic and gallant gentleman he was. “I’m going to wine you, dine you, and treat you right.”

He did not show her the side that scans and scowls and looks down and says, “That’s pretty gross.”

When The Moon was gone, the darkness uncovered the mask he had put on for her. It took Five Swords, five conversations, to realize there was no going back.

The Princess of Swords was shocked and disillusioned. She could see beyond the mask, beyond his true face, and into his own heart. He was not ready to see his own heart, and so, she let him go.

The Death of their idealized relationship gripped the Princess in a way like never before. It was a familiar Death that prompted a rather different response.

Two Swords laid before her, pointing on her two different paths. Should she stay in the safe hold she had built these last three years, or could there be more for her elsewhere? The impulse in her heart told her she needed to leave home and explore The World on her own. In this way, she would grow, she was certain of it.

Homeward

I never thought I’d go this far

Without a star to cross the seas.

So far from shores I’d left behind,

Still far from shores I’ve yet to reach.

I try to find the strength I need

To calm the doubts in my belief.

With the will, I know my heart won’t break.

And if I have strength, then I’ve belief.

If I have love, my heart still beats.

Here under stars,

Far from home.

language

When I just described positive interactions between me and my boyfriend to my mom.

“You are difficult.”

When I told my mom our plans to see each other again in a month.

“You push for things and guys lose interest.”

When I told my brother we made it official.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

“Just don’t drive him insane.”

Things are going really well, and everyone else who knows me has nothing but positive things to say. My friends are supportive—content and relieved that I am with someone who treats me well, especially after everything I’ve been through in past relationships.

Am I a stranger to my mom and brother, or are they strangers to me? Why is it that these two people who live with me, who also witnessed firsthand what I’ve suffered in recent years, place the fault on me? It honestly hurts me to hear their comments or negative advice.

Do they think I got into this relationship being anything less than myself? I’ve known the man for 10 years. He’s seen me through it all and then some. If I were such a monster or fuck-up, would that not have been clear by now?

Their comments remind me the cycles of self-blame my exes would put me through. I feel like this is the last thing I need, and, while it saddens me, I’m relieved I have the insight and clarity to realize their perceptions are not the reality of the situations I lived through. At the very least, I have close friends that I’ve continuously checked in with who can corroborate my experiences of mistreatment and injustice in previous relationships.

My mom and brother already take out other frustrations on me and their expectations weigh on me. I’m sick of being made to feel this way by what should be my closest family. I don’t want to be here with them anymore. I’m glad I recently started seeing other reasons why moving out would benefit me ‘cos being free of the bullshit they put me through is the cherry on top. I deserve better.

rainy dream

After, I was the little spoon and kept kissing him and holding him close to me. He was talking about dropping off his uniform at the dry cleaners and I wanted to stay cuddling in bed. I ran my hands over his ears and he said, “Ah, you’re training me!”

“he looked cute for a second”

(aka, he reminded me of S for a second)

you again

We stopped somewhere to rest. I expected him to drop me off at the motel, since I thought he just wanted me somewhere safe, but he stayed and got into bed with me. We were sleeping back to back, not touching at all. As I was trying to fall asleep I began to wonder about his wife and if she wouldn’t find this suspicious. We weren’t doing anything wrong, but it worried me how this looked.

Then I started to hear a loud swatting noise and I turned go look at G. It looked like he was punching the sheets in his sleep. I shook him, calling out his name and telling him to stop, but he motioned for me to “let him finish” and then I realized he was jacking off. He was doing it with a focused, serious expression, and I understood it was only to rid himself of the built up sexual tension between us. When he finished, he looked at the seed in his hand and tossed it aside forcefully, still not having looked up at me. He realized how us sleeping side by side looked as well. He didn’t want to say it aloud and he knew I understood anyway. There was already this tangible knowing of what existed between us.

However, the actual certainty that this sexual tension existed didn’t help me much—it only heightened it in that moment. I brought my face close to his, maybe wanting some degree of verbal acknowledgement on his part. My hair grazed his cheek and he whispered something that made it clear it would go no further than just knowing he felt the same.

john mayer

I had an electric sex dream with F last night. It’s odd because I don’t think about him often, and I don’t think I thought about him recently. Anyway, I wish I could remember details from the dream. I think we were both single, but I have a feeling that I had some degree of uncertainty about us hooking up. I also have a vague sense that someone was trying to keep us apart in the dream, but he was protective of me. What I remember more vividly was the physical chemistry being heightened by how safe I felt with him.

I know the word “safe” is kind of a turn-off for some people when used to describe a relationship. It sounds like settling, but it’s something that’s really important to me because I’ve been in too many situations where I didn’t feel secure with the person I was dating.

The timing of this dream is interesting because last night I was talking to Vanessa about my attraction to G and how that came up for me earlier this week. I thought, if anything, I was going to have another sex dream with him soon.

We did a frequency reading last night, and the card I got spoke about how something that could benefit me is close to happening, but that I will incur an unintended effect if I don’t let something from the past die. I told Vanessa that I’ve begun to think that even if L were romantically interested in me, I’m not sure I would feel confident pursuing anything with him. First, because he is an over-thinker like me. I’m freaking out just imagining anything happening, so imagine how he would be if something actually did! What if he immediately regrets even the smallest thing happening between us, or begins to second-guess everything like he did with the girl he recently dated? Then, there’s the abrupt way he ended things when we dated. I know it was a hundred years ago, but it wasn’t the first or last time someone blind-sided me. I have trust issues. I think that’s what the card was telling me to let go of, but it definitely isn’t easy.

I feel less vulnerable when I imagine being with someone who is just getting to know me, and that doesn’t make much sense to me because my biggest disappointments in love have left me feeling like I was with people who didn’t know me at all. So shouldn’t I be more inclined to be with someone whom I feel knows me better?

I can’t pinpoint what I want. Some days, I’d love to be the kind of person who can have unattached sex. There are some days I don’t think I’ll find anyone and it’s okay telling myself I get to focus on myself and adopt kids someday. Most days, however, I wish I had a companion. I miss the feeling I’d get when I got texts from J, or talking to S in bed. Sinto falta desse encanto que eu sentia com eles. Today, I think I’d be happy to live vicariously through another sex dream with someone I don’t have to see regularly.

#f #g #l

How are you? What are you doing today?

I think I’ve only ever been with people who loved their idea of me, not who I actually was. In the beginning, I always felt like a prize. I didn’t notice it because I felt like I’d won a prize too. Once the novelty wears off for me, I am usually still left with a sense of wonder about my partner. They fascinate me and I admire them, but they stop seeming fascinated with me and they don’t seem to admire the things they used to admire about me. In my last few relationships, I’ve noticed this happening sooner than later. If the other person is always giving up on me, it makes me think there must be something wrong with me.

Concerning dating apps, I feel like I’ve lost my touch with them completely. I rarely receive messages, even when I have matches, and the people who message me are the “how are you” and “what are you doing today” people who then send brief replies that don’t stimulate conversation. I feel like I can’t send first messages because they have not been successful in the past. Some men say they like it in their profiles, but even some of my male friends have said it makes them think a girl is desperate or there is something wrong with her if they message first. It feels like I can’t win.

It’s been a year since I’ve met J, and I haven’t connected with anyone the same way since. I saw he is dating someone new and it surprisingly doesn’t make me feel awful. I did my best and he didn’t understand me, and those facts are all that remain at the end of the day. He reminded me too much of K in the end.

My friendship with L has gotten stronger, but I am beginning to let go of the illusion that we may progress into anything more. I don’t think he sees me that way, and with each passing day I lose more courage to ever address the way I feel about him. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I need to leave it alone. I fear rejection and feeling humiliated.

I thought about my time with S for a minute today. I thought about how enamored he used to be with me and how he would hold me when we would watch TV together. That’s what got me writing in the first place. It feels like the world’s biggest lie that I will ever be in a position like that again. It feels like it’s not meant to be, and like I am resisting the will of the universe by even being on a dating app.

I know some people find their soulmates later in life, but it’s a disheartening thought. I feel like if that is my possible destiny, then it robs me of the choice to have any remote semblance of a “traditional” family, something I’m not even sure I want. I imagine how I won’t be able to grow with my soulmate or look for my first home away from home with them. I won’t make decisions about having children with them. I will have those things if we meet late in life, and I will have gotten them alone. At this particular moment, I resent that possibility.

I don’t really want to be single forever.

first kisses in cars

I Second That Emotion - Smokey Robinson

With L, my first boyfriend. In the backseat of his best friend’s car, on the way home from an improv show. If I remember correctly, I think our best friends conspired to make this happen so everyone knew it was gonna happen except me. Oldies music for an oldies lady’s first real romance.

Suedehead - Morrissey

With N, the original twin flame. In my car. He ducked back into the car to snag a kiss after saying goodnight on our first date. He said something along the lines of, “After all that, it would’ve been weird not to.” The song had just started when he kissed me and the music flourished the deeper we got into the kiss. It was the perfect backdrop. I smiled the whole way home. This was the first connection I felt after S, so it was a big deal at the time. Ha.

How Much I Feel - Ambrosia

With J, in my car. We were parked at the mall. I had looked out of the window to look at a plane flying overhead and when I looked back at him, he quickly moved in to kiss me. Really. great. kiss. Really sad song. Really tough break up.

I almost died two nights ago

And what flashed through my mind wasn’t any of my caca exes, it was my friends, my family, and my career aspirations.

The experience made me realize I should stop romanticizing romance. That shit is overrated af for me... it doesn’t work for me. It makes me sad and insecure and the men in my past have only misled me and confused me and there are better things to do, more important people to concern myself with.

I already quit the effort to date a bit ago and I’ve felt better about myself and life since then so I will continue to focus on myself, my friends, my family, and soon my career because those are the things that make me happy to be alive.

Regret is the worst feeling in the world.

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