Winds of Change

what now?

The email said, "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep hoping for something that will never be. Please don't call me again. Please let it go."
The reply was harsh and honest and right. "I can't believe you would do this, this way. How selfish of you. I thought there was more to you and more to us. We both have our lives, and no, I can't always be there for you. But I don't deserve this. I hope you will reconsider."

I emailed back and told him he was right. He didn't deserve this. I wasn't angry but couldn't keep going with almosts. It was self-protection. I would write more later when I could give more to the words that needed to be said.

I wrote pages and pages that were never sent. Made phone calls that were not returned. Two weeks passed and I was doing what I had encouraged - letting it go. And then he called. I tried to explain. I don't do well with wanting and needing. And I had begun to want and need too much. I needed space. I needed to stop wanting and needing. I was crying on the phone. He said I hate hurting people and I feel like I'm hurting you. I said, I'm hurting, but it's not your fault. It's circumstances beyond our control. Do you want me to move in, help you buy cars, help you raise your kids, he asked. Don't ask me that, because you and I know it would never happen, I said.  But do you want that, he asked again. I told him I want that, with someone. That's what I want in my life, but I've never imagined that with him, because.... But that is what is missing. And that's why I'm hurting. I'm painfully aware of what I'm missing.
Do you think I don't have feelings for you, he asked. And that was hard to answer. Because I know he does, but in the moment of writing that first email, it had been easy to believe he wouldn't care that I was saying good-bye. I can't explain this, not to him, not to you, not to myself. He said, it's a good thing you aren't my age and I wasn't thinking this was going to be my life - because it would have destroyed me to get that email. I would have been devastated. I tried to explain, those are the circumstances that I'm talking about, and had they been different, I would have never sent the email to begin with. So you got scared and ran, he said. The one thing that should be a driving force in our lives is the thing we fear most. Why are we so afraid of love? All I could say, over and over, was I'm sorry.

Then he called late last night. He hung up before I could answer so I called back. I don't know why I called, he said, I wanted to talk to you and just dialed your number and then it was ringing and I realized what I had done, and hung up. We talked for over an hour. He told me about a girl he has met and how beautiful she is, and how he wants her but he doesn't, he knows this is not going to be good for him, for many reasons. I asked, doesn't it occur to you that this is difficult for me to hear? I don't know what to say to you, because anything I would say is influenced by this pain I have. Do you want me to tell you to go for it? Or are you wanting me to tell you she isn't right for you? But I don't want to hear about her, anymore. What does this mean, he asked. What does it mean that we both hurt when we hear of the other being with someone else. He admitted to his own jealousies concerning me, the times that I've shared my interests in other men with him. We talked some more and then he needed to go to sleep. What now, he asked. I don't know, I answered. After sitting in silence for awhile he agreed, I don't know what to do with you, and then he hung up.

It was sort of, but not really...

It was like an early spring cleaning, but not really. It was purging, getting rid of. But it was cold and bleak.
It all began with the flu. Sick sick days and nights. There were many voices. One was Slovakian, another deep rich honey gold, another familiar asking if I needed anything, and a voice from the past that suddenly re-emerged. The voices were in my head and on the phone, and maybe it was just the fever talking. And the fever was talking. And sometimes I couldn't remember what had been said. There were days and nights of nothingness. And I began to like it that way.
So I decided to see how much I could get rid of. After the fever had cooled and the voices had quieted. What if I could empty it all and start over again? What would I want? Who would I want?
I told people to go away. I didn't answer the phone and didn't return phone calls. Emails got deleted with no response. I didn't surf the net or check my stats. It rained a lot. The heater kicked on when it should have been warm enough without it.  I took some days off. I told people what I thought. I drank too much a time or two and always went home alone. I told the voice from the past to stay in the past, and another person to let it go, and another I couldn't be casual when I cared so much.
I threw it all out. And sat and waited. Played stupid computer games. And learned to spin. Spin fire on the end of chains. I can say I'm a fire-spinner now. My arms hurt and fingers have blistered, and I have hit myself in the head over and over. But I can do it now. And this Spring I'm going to an event I'd rather not name, and I may change my name while I am there. And wear no clothes. And spin fire. And break open whatever is left to break inside.
It is only when you are empty that something new can find its way in. And I am waiting.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

I'm coming back. Really. I needed some time away. I want to start writing here again. Things are good.