I see you in this photo. Barely comprehending the date and time. I know the texture of your hair. I can feel it perpetually coarse, grey and thick. Slightly oily and poorly washed, as you loathed the shampoo's irritation of your skin. Delicate British skin that I wore as a soft, cooing love affair for two years. i knew when it started to flake off and die, the affair, not your skin... but it feels like that, some days, i guess. Love starts out in that way; babying, pampering flesh- then malignant, misshapen, cancerous and oozing. Before we know it, we've no course of treatment. no more salvageable days. We only have mourning. Moving out and beyond the shore, to a blue abyss where nothing feels real, stable or directed. It's just afloat. That's the only place for me, that love enters. It has always been so.
I wish I could have held your wounds in my palms and washed them, licked them, taken you to my breast and fed you milk to nourish your pained heart. I know it was broken and i know what it feels like. I know from both sides, more than once, the pain of leaving- and being left behind. It is not a part of being a human being I find agreeable. Most of my life I have been "with someone" and so, to be without, on purpose, especially a decent man, seemed ludicrous. The guilt, the sadness, the loneliness was awful, but not as awful as it was for you. But you left so fast. If I were testing you, it was a failure on both of our parts. for me to do it, and you to fall for the trick.
Admitting I am capable of love has been so hard. I knew we had friendship and i knew that your hands touched my dogs in such a kind way, I just had to try. I see now that i must feel lust, passion and some thwarting of my sensibilities for my heart to alight with fire. I knew it never lit in such a way, but I couldn't understand if that was just "getting older" or a new, gentle kind of love. As it tired out, I think it was friendship that should have stayed as such. but I am a stubborn ass... and relight, retry, relight I did, as many times as needed. It feels silly even saying it.
the sadness in my heart tonight is for the memories we did not make. The chances for forgiveness that were never to be. The sexuality you may to discover and how I have this unforgivable ego that seems to believe I have a magical vagina. I am sure you will go on to brave your way to love again. you're not a dumb man. not at all. Just too kind, too quiet, too giving and too closed off. These walls are constructs of emotional frailty and they did you not one bit of good. the same way my hyper vigilance doesn't suit my anxiety in the least. Not once have I worked about a headache being a brain tumor & my anxious hunch was correct. Silly brains and hearts. They are but dwarves to reality.
Lately, I need you to know, i am mad... at myself. I wanted you to be here with me and things to be relaxed and ok. I would find time to write and I would passionately break out of my shell to make art again, to crate this magical world. I was so good at narrating the story of us. Remember? but I have found this guy... who is so brilliantly beyond my own mind, reads everything, touches my tenderest heartstrings and - makes me want to care for him, I just can't imagine it's even real. I wish in many ways, I could tell you what he means to me. i wish I could sit down and be adults together and you could feel happiness for me. but that won't happen and i am ok. I do not know if you will ever find this journal and that, too, is okay if you do or not. I write this to know I am in loving kindness, forgiving myself for the pain i caused you. for the life i denied you and the things i took from you. I hope that you learn to give them back to yourself some day.