There are many times when I wish I could write a lot more freely than I do; telling you specifics about people I fuck, people I love or people I want to love and fuck. I don’t want to embarrass myself when they read what I think about them, our dates, or their touch and I don’t want to embarrass them if the thoughts I have are less than favorable.
There are times though when I decide that that anonymity should be thrown out the window. Times like right now for example.
Yesterday I received an email from S, the boy I dated last year – half of a couple we saw for about 5 months. We broke up at the end of November and after healing our wounds started talking again about being friends. I suppose I’m pretty fickle because once I was able to get over the hurt, I was happy to move on with the new, lovely sexy people in my life. But … I still thought that 5 months of being close with someone granted us a “let’s be friends pass.”
We ended up seeing each other once, in February. We talked off and on online after that, but never hung out again. I had gotten to the point where I had lost interest. Every time we would talk it would be a lot of drama. Then it was nothing for a while, until yesterday.
The subject was swansong, meant to be the last beautiful song a swan makes before it dies. And the body was this explanation of why we couldn’t be friends, how he’d become a person I wouldn’t want to know, how his life was so tragic and it was best not to complicate mine by being involved with me.
Call me cold, but all I read was “Blah blah blah, I’m emo and melodramatic and can’t figure out how to relate as a normal human being. I want to be your friend, but I’m so self absorbed in making my own life sound so miserable that I couldn’t possibly devote any time to you.”
So I replied, and basically told him that.
Then I deleted him from Facebook, my phone, my msn, my everything and watched about four Mad Men episodes with Steph.
I feel good. That is all.
