| I haven't felt like writing about him in so long. I feel so strange today. A few days ago he came online, very randomly, not at all like him. He didn't warn me, he didn't message me with his usual, he just came online. He only comes online to talk to me, so it felt weird. We only chatted for about 20 minutes, and it all felt really rather redundant. A few hours later, I realised what date it was, his wife and his anniversary, and also his and my anniversary. That's so fucked up. We met on the same date he got married. I realised he must have come online to "celebrate". He always used to do that, one for me, one for his wife. If he ever bought her anything, he'd buy me something too. Like one of those Bigamists in Utah (haha), sharing out his love. His "love".
He told my friend he'd be online tonight, and he never showed up. I had that same choking feeling I used to get when I started this Xanga. I haven't felt it in so long, I've been so comfortable with him. Now it seems I'm stick in this rut of fear.
He sent me a new picture earlier. A picture of his newly shaved head. I'm so jealous of everyone that gets to see his hair growing. So jealous of his actual hair. I had such a possessive feeling when I saw it. I said to him "You don't know how frustrating this is for me." Getting to see him and not being able to have him, to touch him, to feel his lips, to stroke his back. Sometimes I don't even find him that physically attractive anymore, he's getting older and all. But I remember how he smelt and what it was like to touch him. I remember more about him than anything else. I remember the way it felt when he first touched my hair, when he first put his arm around me, when he first kissed me, when he first made me cry, when he first left me. As he was leaving me the first time, I'd only known him a couple of days, and I knew everything. I knew that would only be the first time of many that he'd leave and I'd cry. I knew that I'd leave him and I would cry for months. I knew I'd be awake at almost 5am still thinking about him 5 years from then. I remember the first time we made love, and the first time he fucked me. I remember the first time he told me he loved me, and the first time I made him cry. I remember... what it felt like to love him with everything I had in my soul, and hate him with just as much. I remember everything.
I was so full of hope for us, right up until I became single again. I was so full of hope for us, even then. Now I know we'll never be together again. I know he'll never love me the same way again, and I'll never be able to have anything real with him. But I still feel like i'm breathing him in when I listen to certain songs. Everything about the air around that time, I still feel like it's suffocating me sometimes.
Driving past a graveyard in Cardiff and thinking about him. It's weird that I remember that. I remember a lot from that day, but that memory is actually as big as the first time I slept with him memory. From then to now, so much has changed. It hurts so much that it'll never be the same. It hurts that I can't be as innocent, that I can't ever look at him with fresh, beautiful eyes again. It hurts that everything I think I want in a man is him. It hurts that I will only be sexual if it feels like him.
Still sometimes I'll walk past someone and they'll smell like him, and it can make me freeze. I'd give anything to be the me I was with him again. I'd give anything to have it all back. I'd go through everything again, just for him.
I know his friend hates him for it. He has seen the colours in my eyes when I think about him, he see's how I'd do anything for him, how I love him, what I'd give for him. I know he'd give anything to have someone feel that way about him. To have someone who was always on their knees for him. To have someone who was always drowning in him, always needing him. He thinks my power to need for so long is beautiful, I guess that's why I love him so much the way I do, because in his way, he see's beauty in me too. The way his friend saw beauty in me. Because I'm special, because of my laugh, because of my eyes, because I live forever.
So often when I'm writing about him I think about my father. I think about how my mother longed for him. Sometimes I long for my father too. I feel him everywhere, I feel him in everything. He's haunting me more than my deceased father ever could. Yet he's still alive, out there, somewhere. And I wish he was watching me. I romanticize everything about *him* too. The difference being that we really do share blood. My mother hadn't seen him for 3 years before the night I was conceived, and didn't see him for 4 years afterwards. Even though I was conceived out of that painful dramatic kind of love, loneliness and anger, I feel like I was meant to happen. I don't feel my life has happened the way it should have though. I feel he should be here. I feel that his name should be on my birth certificate, that he should be here telling me to get some sleep, or watching T.V. with me. Sometimes my father looked at me the way *he* did. Like I was so important. So loved. So much of everything. Like I was the only thing he could see for miles, and I was shining.
I remember one night the way my father looked at me, I didn't *know* he was my father then, and I was scared. Scared because it was so intrusive. He looked right into me. And I was terrified, so scared of what he was looking at, so scared of why he was looking. Now I know he's my father, I realise why he was looking at me in that way. I can't explain how they made me feel. The two most important men in my life. My father and my lover. How can it not be wrong that my father made me feel the way my lover did and vice versa? Was it incestual with my father? Or was my lover my father-figure? It doesn't make me feel sick. It makes me feel loved. |
