a world to bear

At least that. Now I know it's not all in my head. That I am not painting you in the wrong colours. You are exercising your freedom. As you should. As should I, risking that they create a crevasse that none of us can build a bridge strong enough to leap over it. This is the consequence of the choices we made.

For my part, I will try to divest in us. We'll feed on each other's crumbs, if any. I am not good at going half in, kinda binary I'm aware. And training that "ability" sounds so cheap, so fake, so hurtful.

Half alive. Half in love. Half in it. And the other half? What should I do with it?

I know. I should pick myself up by the bootstraps! I should set healthy boundaries. I should create space between us. I should not be at your beck and call. I should exercise some discretionary power, as you do so expertly wield. The thing is, dear, I do like being with you, listening to and debating your life adventures and struggles.

I am your friend. I want you to do whatever you feel like doing. Most likely I'll be here to applaud your flight and catch you when you fall. And I know I'm not the best, but all that I am, is yours should you want it. That would only happen if transparency is a non-negotiable term between us. And it hasn't been, we both know it.

I have watched, mesmerized, at you for quite some time. I can tell when something's off. You know this. You are aware. Do you know the anxiety this brings? Mostly because I don't want you to feel judged, imprisoned, an atom less than completely free. Just keep in mind that our actions have consequences and we cannot control what others feel.

Much unexpected by now, the inability to numb my thoughts and myself with computer games, TV, sleeping is gone. I believe this is the maturity that should have arrived at the beginning of adulthood but did not.

I am still adjusting, clear and undoubtedly. It is a big shift in the way I have dealt with most negative feelings and fears. I am used to just shutting down and hope it goes away, once they reach an unbearable level. I am not able to do that anymore and I'm pretty convinced that I don't want it to be that way anymore. I've since found a new drive, a new will to "make things happen". To take better care of me and my space.

Conversely, I now have to deal with my feelings while they are pounding in my head, which is hard labour in of itself. And the thing with feelings is that they are real, even if their origin is not and the wisdom to differentiate is in backorder. It will come, eventually, but it's late.

Another particularity of feelings is that sometimes, frequently, seldomly, they clash with values we hold dear. With beliefs that one has inscribed with a chisel in the commandments stone. The ones we rather break than twist. Such as individual freedom of anyone, moreover a loved one. And this is why being pounded daily by jealousy, insecurity, anxiety and self-doubt creates a clash so violent inside my mind. Creates a myriad of questions that I do not want to utter, for they are unfair to bestow upon anyone. And so I'll write them here, expecting they never get asked. Let alone answered, for that would be even worse, in the grand scheme of things. And for my values.

• Where did you go Friday?

• why do you keep following him?

• do you keep taking to them?

• did they make you feel better than I do in sex?

• how much better were they at it?

• why do you want to go alone?

• why did you ask me to go with you an then tracked back?

• are you going for the sex, a few wild nights?

• are you going to meet someone there?

• what would make you come back?

• can I just be ok with your freedom?

• should I just let you be there one that got away?

Not that you owe me an answer to them. Nor that I should pester you with them either. They were created in my mind and, amidst that caos, they pound it's walls quite violently. I am well aware of their origin: me, my gaping wounds, my scars, my journey, myself inevitably.

You know, I have been slow to process arguments that do not arise from within me. I have to sketch a path from the source that, at each step, I have to evaluate whether child branches sprouting from that very branch deliver me closer to the destination: a notion formed inside another's mind. This takes it's time to do, moreover for me. Moreover when it is a notion so far removed from the truth. Moreover when it escapes logic. Moreover when it mocks or defaces my values. Moreover when it comes from a place where being myself should be cherished, not judged.

Being like I am in these occasions leads me into solitary introspection, more often than not. And, in accordance with that solitude, I remove myself from frame. I am unable to be mentally and physically present while mapping out the path that was taken.

As such (and I am aware of how cold and distant this process can be perceived to be, how it may be construed as pouting) it seems to me unfathomable to perform "martial duties" with the truthfulness they demand and deserve. Yes, it may be seen as "I don't like this person right now" and it may well be just that. When stung by a rose's thorns there's no real desire to smell it right the next second. One should curse first.

This is why, dear, I don't understand (nor should that matter anyway) how can you give yourself fully and freely (as you should only do) to someone who is hurting you like this. The one who built a convenient story that suits a narrative where he's the main and sole character, where only his feelings matter. One who blatantly disregards you, your feelings, your peace and tells you "you are not enough", "you are not good", "you disgust me". And then he gets to receive the gift of "having his way with you"? No, dear. He does not have that many rights. This is not feudal England anymore. You belong only to yourself and only you can give yourself away. Freely, passionately, truly.

Wether you are doing this for his reassurance or to ease things or in a desperate attempt to prove your love I don't know. I just wish you weren't. I just wish it'd be because he came to his senses and apologised and, with that simple gesture, regained your love and made you feel free and safe once again.

Don't give yourself away to unworthy ones in uncertain times.

And never, ever, give yourself in fear.

You know how to fight. Fight for yourself. Wholely. Let the world and everybody around know how strong you can be! I'll be neighbouring, rejoicing over your victories.

When confronted with the hypothesis of staying with anyone out of habit and not love, my whole body trembles and shivers. It seems so cold, so barren, that no feeling can overcome the gap ever again. No bridges will be built, no flowers will blossom in such a swamp, where life goes to die.

Beeing alone is not easy. Loneliness breaches our smile time and time again. But, at least, we don't have to fake it for the convenience of another or status quo, only for ourselves. Until we finally rise above it.

What if, someday, you gain conscience of what you're doing to us right now. What then? Will it hit you like a wrecking ball or a tonne of bricks? Will you be able to forgive yourself?

I'm prepared and open to forgiving you. Nevertheless, I'll never forget it. But I won't throw it back at you because I know that you are not well and will, forever, put that in front of how much you are hurting me, us, the kids, and, mostly, yourself.

I hope that when the penny drops, it doesn't hurt too much.

- Do you want to make love to me?

- Ew! Gross!

He had been unable to utter what response was burning red hot inside. Anything else would have matched his feelings much closer. He got nervous, the "Yes, I do." got trapped in his throat, cutting the supply of oxygen to the brain.

It is, to this day, abundantly clear that he should have replied differently. "L'effet de l'escalier", the French call it or "hindsight is 20/20" as say the Americans. Within, he knows he does want to make love to her. Not just sex, but love. To look deep into each other's eyes while undressing, lusty moist warm kisses throughout the skin, rubbing body parts all the while holding her chin up to his mouth, grabbing those butt cheeks with both hands searching for the dampness below. The clothes that once upon a time covered their bodies now tangled up on the floor. Slowly falling onto the bed and into the fresh bedsheets, her skin and nipples erupting as her body hits the mattress like a feather. Laying naked by her side, encompassing her torso with his arms to fight the chill away would only make her shiver in anticipation of what would be yet to come. With a long, wet, hot kiss lean over her to lick and nibble on her nipples, under the breasts, the cleavage, his tongue making its way south onto the Venus mound and into the guardians of her chalice. There, he would take his time and have a field day with her red start button, gently pushing and pulling, feeling her twitch and sigh and moan. She would grab his hair and pull him even nearer, his beard tickling her inner thighs, it all overwhelming her senses.

You would pull me up with a sweet sexy smile and whisper "I want you inside me now.". I would enter your humid welcoming doorway, pin your hands above your head with my hands and thrust me inside you, over and over and over again until one or both of us climaxed, the other one giggling. We will then, in quick shallow breaths pronounce our "I like you a lot".

"I had a dream that you were mine. I had that dream a thousand times" is how the song begins. I did have that dream, though I believe not as many times.

In it we kissed and a new we took flight, slowly, steadily, unfolding its wings ever so slightly at each beat of our hearts, now in synchronized motion.

I cannot tell you this. I wish not to burden you furthermore. I have done enough unwillingly to upset your universe. Now that I have gained conscience of the dire straits I've put you in, I am, to the best of my abilities, working hard to avoid any more pain upon you. And, selfishly, to bottle up any more dreams, desires or unfounded expectations. And it hurts.

Despite what Cat Stevens/Yusuf sang all those years ago, I don't believe "the first cut is the deepest" when it regards to romance. Simply because time heals all, right? From my own perspective, it does. What really hurts are the futures that never began, the uncorresponded passions, the lives that never were, the paths I didn't travel, the highs and lows that never came.

I am trying hard (believe me) to divert from the path that leads to you. But then we lock gazes and the light that reflects off of you hits me with the power of several stars. Alive and bustling stars. It's so hard to look away, that I fear your face is getting burned onto my retinas.

Then, you utter in your deep radio voice "I am going to miss you!". I cannot muster the words needed to describe the power of the jolt that pierced my body right there and then, from head to toe, toe to head, left to right and right to left.

Then we hugged, your head just below my chin and the anguish of a goodbye that I wish wasn't. I can't put a number on the repetitions that would be needed for it to be palatable. It may tend to infinity, if my math is anything anyone should bestow trust upon.

I wish I was able to swiftly dismiss these feelings and wholeheartedly believe that there is nothing but your empathy shining through. That you don't mean anything more than friendly reminders (albeit as tight as they don't have any reason of being) that we click as any other two kindred spirits in the world.

I confess that I have made big deals out of small gestures of friendship or even simple niceties. I possess that childish ability(?) of mistaking care for love. Particularly when I am already in a state of heightened misconception, brought about by what my parameters of internal and external beauty are.

I am sorry for not being able to hide or quiet how much I like you.

I am sorry for dumping on your shoulders, in these tempestuous times you face, that I am drawn to you. I have no right, and you have no fault. I just couldn't let it go unheard by you. Again, I have no right.

I'm not helping as much as I should. I am, above all else, your friend. I wish peace to be upon you. That you carry on living without experiencing heartbreak nor pain and, in part, I have been the bearer of such troubles.

My desires will go unattended. As they should, for they are mine alone to bear, in spite of any abusive read I may make of any of your gestures, words, smiles, facial expressions or requests. I must not let myself fall in love with you.