dialogue

honesty #3

a series of unrelated thoughts:

John always said “pale blue eyes” was my song; it’s weird to think that you also think of it as a me-song. Maybe not, maybe I really do just mostly make men mad?

Once, when I was convinced Erica was trying to tell me something, or however you put it, I googled her to see what time her accident occurred. A picture came up of the two of you biking up a hill? Do you know what I am talking about? Anyways, it is a really cute picture. It made me cry. You also looked really sexual and vibrant and hot and fuckable. A very embarrassing confusing collision of emotions for me to hide.

You have to admit, on some level, that I have been honest with you. But when it is honesty you don’t want to hear, you press me harder and say “but really, be honest”. Like, for ex, I have said a few times that all of this coming out in response to me finally saying I am done (because you wouldn’t let me in, goddammit, not because I didn’t want you!), is not something I can bank on. And that for my own piece peace of mind, I need to see you do life for a while and move forward before I can make an accurate assessment of how I feel about our long-term potential. And not from a place of feverish angst but from a place of “I have accepted this response from Liz, and I am accepting it might not happen like I want, and I am moving forwards anyways”.

You look so sad in the Connecticut picture from 2017.

I like watching your instagram stories.

“I’d wear your black eyes” is a line in a song that I listened to and thought of you to and cried about you to, once.

edited to add: But who am I kidding, you will be the one cooking my food, not the other way around.

I once cried while 38 weeks pregnant in a spin class when, for some unthinkable reason, the instructor put “wild horses” on. John’s dad is a huge rolling stones fan, like huge, and I lived with him for a while, and I got kind of attached to him, I think because even though John hated him, he was so much more interactive with me than my dad was, and seemed to actually think I was smart and fun to hang out with and interesting. So I thought of his dad, Rick, and how he wasn’t mine anymore either, and I all of a sudden felt very aware of the fact that I was alone and pregnant, while John slept at Laura’s house a few blocks away, and I kind of wanted to just dissolve into a puddle on the sweaty floor beneath my stationary bike. But I couldn’t bring myself to get off the bike and walk out the door in front of everyone, so I just stayed there and sobbed into a towel.

This picture makes me feel things. I like your nose and mouth. Still.

 

I hope that you were reading this as I edited it, and were confused and kind of amused.

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