A breakup is a painful long slow process for me, I go through these phases:
No contact, but stalking and reviewing – very torturous, wondering and waiting waiting for him to make contact. And cry cry cry cry.
If I’m good and strong, I don’t respond to any attempts at contact. If I’m not that strong, I respond, end up trying to be happy together again, but inevitably breaking up again and going back to stalking and reviewing phase.
The morbid fascination with stalking and reviewing has worn off, and I would be mostly ok, except that any delusional attempt to test whether I’m over it by responding to contact, initiating contact, and/or getting together WILL lead back to trying to be happy together again, and then break up and then stalking and reviewing.
I couldn’t give a fuck anymore phase. Over it and over men, happily single and don’t want to see a man again ever in my life.
I could put myself out there and let another man in … which up to now has always led back to another breakup… sigh what a painful way to waste time.
He would make a perfect partner right? Maybe not. Maybe he couldn’t be bothered to even fit you in anywhere. Can’t bother to take you out but ask you if you’ve made supper since he is hungry. Maybe he spends the whole sunshine part of the weekend with his kid, which is noble, and what a bitch you would be to expect him to spend any of that time with you. Maybe he would expect you to ask him out, with the going out subsequently never happening. Maybe he would regularly check up on what you were doing, just for checking up but not to make any plans. Maybe he will announce he is available and expect you to do the asking to meet up or something like that. And after a long day of him working till 10pm, he will deny that him wanting to ‘come over’ is nothing more than a booty call because that’s just the time he finished working and he wants to see you and in defense proclaim to be able to sleep next to you for a month without expecting sex. Fuck
Sigh. Another one wolf. Another one. Fuck
This is how human life feels like sometimes
The minute he walked in, I knew, I’d seen those eyes before – up close. I’d been mesmerized by those eyes, for one night. They were not his eyes exactly, but they looked exactly like his. Big, and innocent, staring at the world in wonder. Childlike innocence written on his otherwise uneventful sun-kissed face.
I asked him to dance. He looked confused at first, then stepped forward, and took me in a close dance hold – Chest to chest, cheek to cheek. I’d seen those eyes before. And where I’d seen those eyes, before, I’d seen the face of someone else I’d seen before. But only when he smiled. This must be what time travel feels like. Memories of things I’d not thought about came flooding back, the time I saw those eyes before. Intoxication makes me see deeper than I normally see. It can makes me feel deeper than I normally feel. It makes my hands instruments of a mysterious goddess of sensuality. My alter ego. My true self.
He looked like the gentlest most joyful soul I’d never have expected to meet. I saw him as he came in. He looked at me. I looked to my food. I was not interested in some Brit looking for an exotic fling. There were two of them. Then suddenly he was leaning over my table, right over my food. “Can I smell your lobster?” He asked. Too shocked to reply (it was too late anyway as he was sniffing it already) I smiled. They went to sit. When I looked up, only once I did, he was staring at me with those eyes. Those big eyes were swallowing me whole. And I had no choice in the matter. At the counter paying my bill, the two of them appeared. Then we were talking, and they were persuading me to stay another day, There was no resisting it, even though I knew it would change this place for me forever. I had no choice. When he told me the story of his name, I was destined to never forget.
Holiday romances are unforgettable.
Its a lesson I keep on learning about, from others. They are not aware they are teaching it to me. This week, my friend Ido taught me this lesson. Ido is one of those guys who used to hang out with my circle of cousins. Just a friend he was. A funny guy, he fit right in with us. As we got older, (now all between 30 and 40) and didn’t hang out so much anymore – because some got married, all got jobs – and free time became a seriously rare commodity, we kind of lost physical touch with each other and friendships morphed to facebook-ships.
Not long ago, maybe 3 months or so, I remember a series of facebook posts from him about being very unhappy about working on all the lovely sunny public holidays while others were having fun and joy in the sun. And then posting about having a wonderful single day off. He was a crazy happy straightforward person, stuck in the ratrace. Then I noticed his posts were starting to dwindle. A couple of weeks ago, he posted about being in hospital, and last week about being home and going for a drive which he’d been dreaming about for weeks, and then about wishing his painkillers kicked in soon. He had undergone a very serious surgery to remove a mass from his brain. Two days ago he died while in recovery.
I keep on learning this lesson from other people. It keeps on dramatizing itself to me.