I wrote the following note in January, to an ex-boyfriend who dumped me a year earlier... or maybe two years earlier... it's unclear. I am a stubborn insistent woman and I don't always listen to or believe people when they tell me what they want. But that has nothing to do with why I got dumped, I'm sure.

(lol)

Ugh ugh ugh ! 

I am really missing you right now! Ideally I would tell you that and you would say, “me too, let’s go take the girls on a walk after a 2 minute hug.” 

But perhaps you are with someone else, discussing dinner plans and thinking about your distant future together. I am the last thing on your mind, something you may reflect on later and feel grateful for. 

In the same sigh, I think of when I asked if you’d ever hold me again and you scoffed and said, “of course.” Or when you said, as if bursting with Trueness, with Tenderness, with the Love we had so hoped we shared, “sweetheart, you are changing my life."

Or else I play through past scenarios, when you told me you don’t love me and don’t want to be with me, when you told me to go away. 

I have grown very protective of my alone time. Sacred hoursª have expanded to include all of them, and no one quite qualifies to join me. I’ve tried out a couple of suitors but they’re all so very ... sweet... missing something... the simplest interpretation is I’m just not ready. Depending on the day, I prefer to believe that spot has only ever been yours. I’m not waiting for anything, not exactly missing anything... just the sigh we take when we breathe together, with my head on your chest and your arms around me, my hands giving your shoulder blades permission to believe in safety. Like, it’s ok here, we have each other, whew, sweet relief. Breathe.

I suppose I won’t call you. Or I will. Eventually I’ll do both. I hope. I hope I will. Sometimes, anyway, I hope I will call you. Sort of, at least. I really miss you right now. And I already find myself missing the way it feels to miss you. So I guess I’m trying to savor this longing. This hope, this daydream.

All of the frustration and impatience occurring in my day-to-day life has found an avenue of expression that wont freak anyone out. Well, anyone except you. I don't care about freaking you out. You're a fucking asshole.

I really want to have a bubble of minutes where you can hold me. As though your arms could give my being a water break on a hot day. A few minutes for me to breathe, collect myself, then continue on with the mission. I’m not sure it’s really you though, I'm not sure I know you. Did we have an honest relationship? Will we ever? Did you know? Did you know you could always confide me? Did you ever?

I really miss you right now. I sort of hope I always do.

ª Sacred Hours: Sacred hours are what I call the hours of the night during which I am openly selective about how and with whom I spend my time. They have typically been around 11 PM - 7 AM on weeknights.

I wrote the following note in January, to an ex-boyfriend who dumped me a year earlier... or maybe two years earlier... it's unclear. I am a stubborn insistent woman and I don't always listen to or believe people when they tell me what they want. But that has nothing to do with why I got dumped, I'm sure.

(lol)

Ugh ugh ugh ! 

I am really missing you right now! Ideally I would tell you that and you would say, “me too, let’s go take the girls on a walk after a 2 minute hug.” 

But perhaps you are with someone else, discussing dinner plans and thinking about your distant future together. I am the last thing on your mind, something you may reflect on later and feel grateful for. 

In the same sigh, I think of when I asked if you’d ever hold me again and you scoffed and said, “of course.” Or when you said, as if bursting with Trueness, with Tenderness, with the Love we had so hoped we shared, “sweetheart, you are changing my life."

Or else I play through past scenarios, when you told me you don’t love me and don’t want to be with me, when you told me to go away. 

I have grown very protective of my alone time. Sacred hoursª have expanded to include all of them, and no one quite qualifies to join me. I’ve tried out a couple of suitors but they’re all so very ... sweet... missing something... the simplest interpretation is I’m just not ready. Depending on the day, I prefer to believe that spot has only ever been yours. I’m not waiting for anything, not exactly missing anything... just the sigh we take when we breathe together, with my head on your chest and your arms around me, my hands giving your shoulder blades permission to believe in safety. Like, it’s ok here, we have each other, whew, sweet relief. Breathe.

I suppose I won’t call you. Or I will. Eventually I’ll do both. I hope. I hope I will. Sometimes, anyway, I hope I will call you. Sort of, at least. I really miss you right now. And I already find myself missing the way it feels to miss you. So I guess I’m trying to savor this longing. This hope, this daydream.

All of the frustration and impatience occurring in my day-to-day life has found an avenue of expression that wont freak anyone out. Well, anyone except you. I don't care about freaking you out. You're a fucking asshole.

I really want to have a bubble of minutes where you can hold me. As though your arms could give my being a water break on a hot day. A few minutes for me to breathe, collect myself, then continue on with the mission. I’m not sure it’s really you though, I'm not sure I know you. Did we have an honest relationship? Will we ever? Did you know? Did you know you could always confide me? Did you ever?

I really miss you right now. I sort of hope I always do.

ª Sacred Hours: Sacred hours are what I call the hours of the night during which I am openly selective about how and with whom I spend my time. They have typically been around 11 PM - 7 AM on weeknights.