Saturday, August 30, 2014

While We're Both Still Breathing

It continues to astonish me that you, who professes to having moved on to create a better 2.0 version of yourself, who is grateful for the blessing of forgiveness from others, who is described by others as being generous and kind, is so unwilling to extend the benefit of those very qualities to me. Maybe I just don't want to believe, particularly after having established a brainy, humorous, lexophilic connection, that all you were interested in was a little uncomplicated, casual, out of town sex. Even though I expressed to you before we were intimate that I don't do the friends-with-benefits or the casual thing. It's never worked out well because I become attached. I even described to you how I meticulously go about choosing a partner for what I term scratch-the-itch sex and how even that can go badly, especially if I don't follow my self-imposed rules for that activity. You were amused while you massaged my feet. The next day we agreed that this was something we both definitely wanted to do again. That was months ago. In the intervening time, misunderstanding ensued. You didn't give me an opportunity for explanation, preferably face to face. You hurt my feelings and I reacted. Because what happened between us before we met as well as during the brief time we were together, you mean something to me. I have reached out in every way possible to no avail. You seem rigid in your resolve to ignore me, even to project the impression that we never met. Did you have the right to change your mind about me? Yes. The very least you owed me was to man up and have the courage to tell me you weren't interested in seeing me again. I remain grateful that you didn't use the old saw, let's just be friends. I've worked my way through all the stages. I'm doing my best to accept the way things have turned out without asking why. Because it's likely I'll never know why. The thing is, looking back I would still drive four hours through frozen rutted slush to meet you knowing it would end this way. And even today, because it's so rare to meet someone I connect with on so many levels, I would meet you anywhere just to look into your eyes again. For an hour over a beverage to sort it out. This desire paints me as neither weak nor foolish nor desperate. But as a believer in what could be, a sucker for romance, and a woman who trusts that Trent 2.0 is a work in progress.

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