Well...we talked. Soberly even. It was sort of awful, but it cleared the air a little bit. I cried, of course. But I said the things I had to say. Nothing was really settled though, despite that. He doesn't feel that "spark" whatever the fuck that is. It isn't that he isn't attracted to me, it isn't that he doesn't want to spend time with me it's just....that vague "spark" that's missing. On his end I guess.
I was even a little venom-ful and told him that the spark must be that I'm not a soul sucking mess that he has to clean up constantly. That I'm not a drain on his finances and time, am in fact the exact opposite. That he's still in love with his fucking ex. He took this all under consideration and told me I probably had a point. A point but not a spark I guess.
And so what does that mean? He/I don't want him to be here if it hurts me, but he/I both want to spend time together and be together. He just wants to be friends. I want to be friends of course, but I also want more and I can't stop that no matter what I've tried. I can choke it back for x amount of time, but before long it builds too far up and I'm head over goofy heels and can't contain it. So does he leave? He doesn't want to, I don't want him to. It'd be hard....wait...I've written this all before. When it all ended with jc I had these same stupid thoughts. About how hard it would be to untangle our lives, about how I'd be losing my best friend. Gah. I guess I can be glad I didn't waste 5 years of my life this time. But it's not like we came to any conclusions about this so who knows, maybe I'll get my chance...
So we go on, I guess as hetero-life mates without the fucking. It only plagues me constantly, picking at me wherever I turn. Every song is about love, every movie and tv show finds a way to remind me I'm pushing 30, single, childless, and playing platonic house all over again. I can't escape to games because the online one thinks we're the "old married couple" and the sims remind me that I can't be rich, fabulous, and getting laid on a regular basis if I just study my skills and go to work. Books work a little, as long as they're stevie and as long as I've read them 1000 times. Even then it's always just around the corner, like an errant chin hair I've vowed not to pick at, and find myself unconsciously picking at anyway once my mental back is turned.
So I've been drinking. More than I should, and not the happy fun "maybe I'll get laid" drinking, but the "please god let that stupid little voice shut up" drinking. And it works, except of course for the times it doesn't and the voice just gets both louder and sadder. Those days instead of finally falling into the blackness of sleep I end up crying to myself, wrapped in his blanket it the bed where I once slept happily post-orgasm.
Ugh, I'm going to visit the resin and finish this beer and hope that a good old fashioned food binge coma can help. Hurrah for self destruction :/
