Protected: Angst as you Left for Italy

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In Which I Resist the Urge to Call

I miss you.

And you must miss me at least a little bit because we exchange more text messaging now than we ever did while we were in an actual relationship. (And YOU are the one who initiates contact with most of them. Has that irony occurred to you? )

And I know that if I invited you to come watch Pitch Perfect with me, you would.
If I show up on your doorstep and ask you to go for a walk with me, you would.

But I have to keep forcefully reminding myself that I don’t want to settle for your concession.
What I really want is someone who will show up on MY doorstep.

Who will put a letter in MY mailbox.

Who will  miss me more than I miss them.

And that is why I will not chase you even though I know that you are lonely enough that I could catch your company.
I want so much more than company.

Through and Through

There is no way around. Just through.

And I know it will be ok eventually. It has been before through far worse heartache. But that knowledge makes going this process no  less difficult.

I know I will be on the upswing when

In Which I Have My Reasons

Dear readers, feel free to skip the next weeks of upcoming posts as I will be processing my recent break up. This blog is primarily for nothing more than my own venting purposes, but since one or two people seem to stumble upon my blog every now and again (and a few have even elected to follow it–heaven knows why!) I  figured it was only fair to give a bit of warning.
_________

You are gone.
And I feel a bit like the girl who sings “I Know Him so Well” as she ponders, “If I knew from the start, why amI fallling apart?”

You see, I did know.

I didn’t know exactly how it would happen, or what would be the catalyst; but the inevitability was as sure as the waxing and waning of the moon.
Maybe it’s because I refuse to be content with that which I am offered.
That probability has crossed my mind many a time. Please understand I’m not blaming you.
But whether I should or not, I DO expect to be desired and pursued and treated as though I am WANTED. (Whether or not I’m desirable and wantable is an evaluation for another day.)

For now, I will simply record the signs as I read them (In no particular order):

In Which I Overthink

I woke up this morning at 2:30. Sometime around 4, I fell back asleep, but that was only because I refused to pull out my laptop and write. As awake as I felt, I knew that if I turned on the screen, I would just stay awake and write until I had to get ready for work. And I refused to lose that much sleep before 8 hours of shipping department chaos. Which is why I will probably never be a writer. I am far more devoted to adequate sleep than craft or storytelling or recounting the days in any kind of lucid, coherent consistency.

But I was thinking about you. About us. About all the things I wish we could be. About all the things we aren’t.

In Which a Whole Day has Passed without Inquiry

My Dear Heedless Sir,

You have concluded that I adore you.

(Apparently my efforts to make you feel special have been a success. )

You are wrong.
Call it overcompensation, if you will, for feelings I wish I had.
Oh, don’t misunderstand. There is much that I enjoy of your company–It’s just that adore is far too strong a word for the disappointment that crushes my soul beneath the weight of your indifference.

I know that you enjoy cuddling with me. And you enjoy kissing me. But, darling, there is a vast difference between curiosity and caring.  And I’m glad that you like me. But I wish you could understand that I’m not seeking your approval, but your affection.

There is no eagerness. No delight. No intensity of joy or can’t wait to talk to you. No sentimentality.
I want someone who will be sentimental with me.
I wish that someone could be you.
I know you aren’t the sentimental type. But I feel like I could deal with that, even, if you were at least half as interested in me as you were in drumming. or physics.  or everything else.

Half of that is my fault. I know I’m not doing a good job at being interesting.
What’s fascinating about a night spent watching Gilmore Girls while compulsively checking my email to see if my boyfriend has decided to communicate with me (and if so, if he’s bothered to inquire anything about me).

That is my new experiment, you know. It will probably take you a while to catch on. If you ever do. But I’m done. You will receive exactly what you give for as long as I can stand the torture of knowing that you don’t even recognize that I’ve given up.

I’ve heard it said that we accept the love we believe we deserve.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so proud…. but I believe I deserve better than this.

And eventually I’ll find the words to tell you this in person.
Until then I remain, precariously yours,
C.

Budget Blues

My dear frugal Sir,
At the beginning of the month, when we weren’t exclusively dating, we went to a see a movie and you asked me if  I would be upset if you did not pay for my ticket.

I should have said yes.

Five Small Scraps of Paper and a Rose

My dear oblivious sir,
It’s not that I’m keeping track.
And yet I am.

I always envisioned that I would be a selfless lover. That I would be happy to give. And give. And give. And that I would be beautifully generous…