Originally, I was going to write this after I had dreamt of you.
I felt that same passion and drive that you feel to accomplish something in your 20’s.
But as the minutes went on, and I realized that I had to live this painfully rational experience without you. When I say that I mean I feel all the things that would make me say “I can’t live without you” and here I am, proving that wrong, still diligently marching forward, one foot in front of the other, preferring pornography and polyamory to monogamy and “traditional” living.
I had all the fire to talk about you deep within my subconscious, but I expressed it as time went on in a series of tweets:
“I keep dreaming about her. I haven’t engaged with her in a bit over a year. I haven’t looked her up. I haven’t reached out, but still she sits in the back of my mind like she belongs there. If this isn’t love what is it?”
“I’m sitting with the feeling that I should reach out to her. I’m letting it simmer in my body and settle all the dust it’s kicked up in my soul. The feeling is less strong now but still it’s as if I must do something, but something small feels suitable now.”
“And now I’m at the point where it’s fine to do nothing at all. But that’s so sad, it’s such a miserable revelation. This is it? That’s all? Nothing can be done? I feel pathetic.”
_________
Don’t get me wrong, life is good, but these brief, phantoms of you can suck the joy out of life with such efficacy that it is hard to find the words to describe its sorrow.
All in all, I suppose there’s something I can do, although now, an hour away from my waking, it feels pointless, I’ll do it, just to say I did, just so you know.