(no subject)
So much, again. Of the last
And of those feeling which remain? Hm. Too damned much of it. Of all the men I've ever dated, he'd been the one most accepting of my quirks. A month or some, we'd corresponded online after one night of acquaintance. We wrote our souls, as best I remember--in the wake of our initial parting, I deleted almost everything. I couldn't bear to have it near me. Too much.
Far too much. The communication is what draws me in, truly. No matter how attractive a man, if he can't at least hold some of his own in a conversation with me, I want nothing whatsoever to do with him. Or, rather, I only would prefer conversation in passing--I do still like to know people and to listen as to help them, after all. Because truly, sincerely listening can do so much good, in so many ways...especially as it enables you to help connect the dots yet unrealized as related by the relayer. So, yeah...I do love listening, as much as I love people. But conversation of a broader nature is what always draws me in.
I brood. I overthink for the sake of stretching the bounds of what's been realized. And I analyze to the point that every point yet conceived is delineated, deconstructed as to well realize the component points of interaction. When I try to talk about such things as occupy my mind, with most people the vacant stare begins fairly quickly. The yawns or sighs of impatience fall in over time. Eventually the shifting about and becoming restless is enough that I'm finally willing to relent another moment's attempt to communicate on my level.
And this is with those who are intimates, of somewhat a mental or emotional nature. Not all are of this, and there are even a few who will indeed wander along with me in their ways. But, and perhaps it's only that I haven't fully pushed the envelope...it may well be--I've been so withdrawn, for so long...it's difficult to reveal myself more deeply to even those whom I've known for years.
But with him, it came naturally. As it has again. I lament the loss of that communication more than anything.
After so many years...and even a year and a half, as last he'd contacted me...but, after so many years--why had he come back 'round, calling? For an affair? Truly?
Because after all the madness I'd flung his way had finally unsettled him to the point where I expected either complete withdrawal or a lashing out...instead there was a rather self-mocking and self-derisive revelation of his marital status. Quite how much he berates himself for the state of things was unintentionally and rather conversely endearing.
But I could never do that. Especially not with him, with whom mere snippets of conversation in passing is enough to allow me to divulge an entire scenario, simply per phrasing and word choice. Because he is precise in his expression. As I tend to be. It is too much, the need to continue communication...too much to allow a mere moment's reacquaintance while permitting sanity to remain. Even if circumstances were not as they are. Why, then, am I still so desperate to be near him again? It's driving me just a bit insane, even still. And I absolutely must remain steadfast. If he approaches me again, after all I've said. Then, well enough--I'll know he's serious of a new beginning. Damnit, I can't even consider it.
It's something for the morrow to consider. I need sleep far too desperately now, to continue. Any why should I miss him? Why, indeed. That I do still love him. Or is it merely all he represents? Easier to believe.
I am so weary of all these emotional hurdles, stumbles, and bounds.
Many hugs and much love to all of you.
And of those feeling which remain? Hm. Too damned much of it. Of all the men I've ever dated, he'd been the one most accepting of my quirks. A month or some, we'd corresponded online after one night of acquaintance. We wrote our souls, as best I remember--in the wake of our initial parting, I deleted almost everything. I couldn't bear to have it near me. Too much.
Far too much. The communication is what draws me in, truly. No matter how attractive a man, if he can't at least hold some of his own in a conversation with me, I want nothing whatsoever to do with him. Or, rather, I only would prefer conversation in passing--I do still like to know people and to listen as to help them, after all. Because truly, sincerely listening can do so much good, in so many ways...especially as it enables you to help connect the dots yet unrealized as related by the relayer. So, yeah...I do love listening, as much as I love people. But conversation of a broader nature is what always draws me in.
I brood. I overthink for the sake of stretching the bounds of what's been realized. And I analyze to the point that every point yet conceived is delineated, deconstructed as to well realize the component points of interaction. When I try to talk about such things as occupy my mind, with most people the vacant stare begins fairly quickly. The yawns or sighs of impatience fall in over time. Eventually the shifting about and becoming restless is enough that I'm finally willing to relent another moment's attempt to communicate on my level.
And this is with those who are intimates, of somewhat a mental or emotional nature. Not all are of this, and there are even a few who will indeed wander along with me in their ways. But, and perhaps it's only that I haven't fully pushed the envelope...it may well be--I've been so withdrawn, for so long...it's difficult to reveal myself more deeply to even those whom I've known for years.
But with him, it came naturally. As it has again. I lament the loss of that communication more than anything.
After so many years...and even a year and a half, as last he'd contacted me...but, after so many years--why had he come back 'round, calling? For an affair? Truly?
Because after all the madness I'd flung his way had finally unsettled him to the point where I expected either complete withdrawal or a lashing out...instead there was a rather self-mocking and self-derisive revelation of his marital status. Quite how much he berates himself for the state of things was unintentionally and rather conversely endearing.
But I could never do that. Especially not with him, with whom mere snippets of conversation in passing is enough to allow me to divulge an entire scenario, simply per phrasing and word choice. Because he is precise in his expression. As I tend to be. It is too much, the need to continue communication...too much to allow a mere moment's reacquaintance while permitting sanity to remain. Even if circumstances were not as they are. Why, then, am I still so desperate to be near him again? It's driving me just a bit insane, even still. And I absolutely must remain steadfast. If he approaches me again, after all I've said. Then, well enough--I'll know he's serious of a new beginning. Damnit, I can't even consider it.
It's something for the morrow to consider. I need sleep far too desperately now, to continue. Any why should I miss him? Why, indeed. That I do still love him. Or is it merely all he represents? Easier to believe.
I am so weary of all these emotional hurdles, stumbles, and bounds.
Many hugs and much love to all of you.