confession: one of my college loves is now a psychiatrist in connecticut. (thanks google for the capacity to search out old college loves.) for the past several years i’ve considered flying to the northeast in the summer, making an appointment with him just to catch up for an hour, to see him in his office, to surprise him. because my name is changed, he wouldn’t recognize me in his appointment book. but i don’t pursue that plan because it sounds crazy and he’s a psychiatrist.
confession: i sent a love letter to my soul friend today. it took all week to write it because words are too constricting for the feelings i need to convey. the bigger the feeling, the fewer and smaller words i find to use. the most important paragraph read like this: “after the disappointments suffered and created in major and minor love affairs in the past decade…my heart doesn’t have the stamina to love boldly. i can love calmly. i can love peacefully. i can lovingly let go. i’ve learned to gently grieve. but i can’t love boldly anymore. at least not at this time, not for the past many years, not for the nearest years that come next. i can live boldly at least. when i’m honest with myself, i’d rather live boldly than love boldly for now.”
confession: if i wanted her back, i could probably have her. i don’t want her back. she knows that.
confession: the little grad student scientist that thinks i’ll fuck him just because he’s smart, sassy, and cute doesn’t know me well enough to know that’s never gonna happen. i almost told him but didn’t because he’s the kind of person who’d take it as a challenge.
confession: i’m bumping into more and more boundaries to maintain in order to protect my safety, privacy, and sanity.
confession: she has a new boyfriend which means she stays home on the couch with him instead of going dancing with her friends. we’ve all been there. we’ve all done that. we all understand. and still, every time i go out, i look for her.
confession: for years i didn’t believe him when he asserted that he falls in love several times a night, but lately i’ve allowed myself to feel the same way. falling in love a little doesn’t hurt. falling in love a little feels like flirting with more heart and without sex. falling in love a lot takes longer. a lot longer. and requires courage and vulnerability and commitment and that shit is really fucking hard.
confession: i talked to her again last night. every other time i’ve talked with her i was drunk. last night i was sober. she’s more and less than i perceived when i was drunk, as is usually the case. she’s more confident. she’s less shy. she’s taller. she’s smaller. she’s happier. she’s simple. i like her.