photos first.
reflection later. i might get something out, i am not sure, some sort of idea of how i feel, buzzed a little, exhausted, too little sleep, warmer, i remember that warmth, that feeling of not sleeping alone is closer now, after two nights of warmth again. that different warmth - loveless sounds harsh, but is the closest i come - and it was a reminder, a remembering that i will and can get on with things, so much clearer than any other focus can, and done better than with some random stranger. i remember that i have solved nothing, but just remembered that my head is cleared. the first sexual experience post breaking up with someone you intently love is hard, for me. it breaks my heart a little, i shatter a little, because THIS was something i only wanted to do with my lover. it was the place where i felt most intently, powerfully, beautifully, sacredly loved. when i love someone intently, and our physical expressions of this take a really profound form, something that's only happened to me in my four relationships, and one time with a friend who i love, and oh god, that one was hard to recover from... i find the first movement backwards, the first time again, the first physicality with someone else horribly hard, and upsetting, and isolating.
but i was ok. i am ok. i will be ok. there was no hapless weeping, no misery, just a sadness, a knowledge, a flatness that is coming from the situation now. a sanguine acceptance, which is more cynical than i like to be. but cynicism is idealism that's been proved wrong, when idealism was proved fiction, and the gap and the truth, the waking up and looking at the reality shows nothing more than the flat words that are a myriad of difference each reflection, and oh, you say that, but you say it again differently, and each of these fictions is truth in a way. and i am tired of that. i was tired of that. that fiction is not a fiction of flickering mistruths that i want to dive through. my cynicism comes out of this, and it'll smooth out, like a folded sheet that's lifted and unfurled, flapping softly, one day. right now, it's creased and shoved in a bag, but perfectly in tact. and one day, it will softly come out, and be held between me and someone else. we'll take a few steps apart, and we'll unfurl it, and listen to that sharp thump that sheets make when stretched and moved between two people.
it'll smooth out with my future, when i am healed.
i haven't been angry since the first Not Angry post. the anger is gone. sometimes, there is a tightness, but the only time that's been bad was due to other reasons - something that deeply irritated me not because of who he was, but how i felt. having someone act in a way you find exceedingly unacceptable, for whatever reason, when you have a great deal of respect for them, is always disappointing.
my weekend has been wonderful. i've had friends and loved ones and family and urban family around me, dancing and hugging and taking me home. i've had calls from my two most loved men in brisbane, Noog and the Jule, and both are visiting in the next few months, and i am hungry for that. the subtle twitch that's always in my heart for Jule is there, oh yes, you know, it's always there, but his personal similarities to E put me off more than a bit right now. i feel deeply content to love him, openly, unquestioningly, and utterly, and continue to expect nothing from him. i never have, and when i am let down, it is sadness, not disappointment. i never came to trust him with my heart, or trust him to look after me, and that was my mistake with E. i trusted his shifting sand words, as they settled on me. they are, obviously, completely true in each moment. but then they shift, his moment gone, and he has resolution he needs over there, and everything he said about one promise, just shifts away....
jule, well, he'd never make a promise, because he knows his mind shifts rapidly. that's more now what causes the flatness- the inability to stop and reflect and go 'maybe i won't mean this one day, maybe i should not make this promise...'. i am slowly more indifferent and blank, because the discomfort has passed, and it's just disillusioned now. but i need to remember it's disillusionment with one person, not relationships, not love, not all of this. i need to remember times where things worked out. i need to look at patterns and recognise this earlier. if i'm protecting my heart, well, it's probably closed for a reason - don't open it, no, don't give in, you had good reason, and you knew it would happen, little heart. there was not a single part of surprise in me, only solid, sick knowledge that it would happen. oh i knew.
and i know that some librarians don't know fiction from non fiction. i know sometimes, we don't have any idea at all if what we say is true of our own hearts. but the inability to know that we do not know, that frustrates me, saddens me, and makes me feel slightly let down, even now, even with the slow burn recovery, little better yes, each day, well, not even sad so much as there are dreams i had and now they are dead in my bag with all the scrap paper and dirty receipts. i mourn them now... little dreams falling away, little dreams you'll be ok now.... we'll make new ones.
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