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Wednesday, Jun. 15, 2005 / 6:48 p.m. ~A Harsh Realization, Really~ It was simple really, I wanted to help, I wanted to write a testimonial for him, so maybe women would want to know him, to meet him at least, and as I was making the effort to be sincere, honest, to think of all the good things about him, I was touched by my memories, again. I was getting ready for bed later, pausing to look in the mirror and face myself, square on, and I realized it, it hit me, I'm still in love with him. I saw who he is, I read so much of his writing, and he tried to deny its merit, its worth, but it was him, he had poured so much of himself into those journals, and I had sat to read his words on so many occasions, hours spent reading him, feeling so many different emotions, but overall knowing that this was someone I wanted to know, and this was someone I felt a pull toward. I have the strongest memories of specific moments, specific confessions, mine and his, and mainly sitting and looking into his eyes and seeing more than he wanted me to see, watching him stroke the fur of that cat between us, specific visuals, and these feelings that never went away, they only come back stronger at times, when I least expect it. Like when I'm trying to encapsulate who I think he is, and why I think someone would want to know him. Then I want to know him, I want to be the one, I want to be befriended by him, I want to be the one he thinks of, the one he phones when he wants to talk, I want to lie in my bed wishing he'd call, only to hear the ring I've assigned him on my cell phone, to answer and hear his voice. I still feel all of that, despite months of conditioning, despite feeling so cleared, so refreshed, so past all of it. If this can all come back so quickly, so readily, it means nothing has changed inside me, inside my own heart, whatever that is, for it's only an organ, a pump, it doesn't contain my feelings. That's the brain, and it's all synapses firing anyway. This makes no sense. But I always end up thinking the same things, maybe, and one day, and if, and possibly, and magic happens, and who knows, and etc. I don't count on anything, but I just have this eternally optimistic view, and every time I say, "Thank god that's all over", and "I'm way past that", and "I feel nothing for him anymore", I know it's all lies I tell myself to try to move on, because I do try. But I can't forget how rare it is I feel that connection that we all crave so heartily, that certain something that doesn't happen often enough, how rare it is, how special it is, and how despite everything to the contrary, all the emotional investment I've put into the 'moving on' part, I just really think I'm still... in love? It's not obsession, it doesn't feel like that, not at all, it just feels like this warmth I feel for him and for all the good I saw in him, that I see the rough exterior just like mine, and the walls erected, just like mine, but I know it's all a cover for this vulnerability underneath, and the endearing quality of that vision is a bit overwhelming at times. And then I feel it, again. So I dreamed we were together, and I was protecting him, I loved him so much, but I couldn't let him know, so I became someone else, and we sat together, eating cheese and bread, at a picnic table in a small woods, and I think I had blonde hair, and he had no idea it was me. I remembered the type of cheese, and the bread was French, and I awoke thinking of the cheese, and I forced myself to remember it, never to forget, like a mnemonic device, the cheese, the cheese, like trying to remember a phone number repeating it over and over, but now I can't remember at all. I only remember that I was close to him again, and in a way it didn't matter that I'd lost myself, in that version of romantic love that requires a sacrifice of self, a gift of one's self so vast and all encompassing that there is no ego remaining. I just wanted his happiness, and his protection, and to 'be' with him, near him, seeing him, sharing food, cheese and bread. And this is how he makes me feel, just our own memories, the real memories, not dream memories, that I would lose my own selfishness, that my ego disappears, and it's this feeling of wanting nothing but to give. This writing, now, this is a catharsis of sorts, for I need to let it out, put it down, put it out there in the universe, because I seldom feel this, not for anyone, just the cats, and my love for them is so strong it also overwhelms at times. I am one for passionate expression, and emotions that overwhelm, and I make no effort to change that, and in this, I suppose it is best I put it here instead of trying to let him know. Again. He knows. Our last communication was his acknowledgement of my own 'strong feelings', and his desire not to hurt me, which I took only to mean he feels nothing, and in my hurt I was angry, and wrote again how insulted I felt, how he assumed, and how could he know, he can't know. But he does, I see that. And there is little more uncomfortable than being loved by someone whom you do not love in return. So this is written with that in mind, and if in my dreams I can remove my disguise and be myself, and he can enjoy the time we spend breaking bread, and eating cheeses, and allowing me to protect him and care for him, to love him, then that is all I would want. At least in my dreams I am free to love, and freely at that. Next time the guard is let down and I will be who I really am. Cost of the War in Iraq
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