sand

It’s happening. I’m thrilled about it, and I’m saddened as well. And before, I would have said I am just telling myself the lies I need to tell myself to move on. Maybe I am. Probably, I am. At first, it was intentional, and now it seems to just be happening. I am shoving him away. Even when I intentionally try to remember some of the wonderful moments we shared, I can’t. They are becoming blurry pictures in the past and the emotions around them are lessening. I can remember how I felt, but can’t make myself access the emotion. However, I also don’t look at pictures and such either or see him to talk to him, that would be bad. The only time lately where those emotions return are when I’m sleeping, in my dreams. There he is beside me like he always was. I don’t want to let him go. I want him to disappear from me (like he didn’t do that nearly a year ago). I want to be here, waiting, when he comes back. You know, cause that’ll happen. One day, I’ll look back and say, yeah, I loved him, but I wasn’t as happy as I thought I was. That will be a lie. One that I will probably believe and accept. Maybe that’s how it has to be. It feels like a betrayal. I was talking to my brother last night about going on a date (we have similar mind sets) and he said, ‘doesn’t it feel like you’re cheating on him?’ I though for a moment, and said, ‘No, I’m not cheating on him.’ Hell, I could be dating the entire Broncos team and cast of glee (the male cast) and still not be cheating—he doesn’t care. In a rare insightful moment, my brother clarified, ‘I mean, on yourself.’ My only answer to that was, ‘Yes, that I do feel.’ It does feel like I cheating on myself. I love him. He’s still the one I want. I know that will lessen and maybe even go away—just because that’s how life is and how we cope and evolve. I am cheating on what I want. However, I have to live again. I have let life happen and not wallow in the death any longer. I’m accepting that. I just have to work a little harder at not feeling guilty about it, and intentionally trying to make him a stranger in my mind and heart (be it real or not).
That said, the second date was perfect. He made me a wonderful dinner, was unintentionally clumsily charming. TMI, our second date was much more innocent than our first, which also pulled at my heart strings. There is a chance that he may have to move to Boston for work. Perfect. I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I am setting myself up for greater pain. Maybe I’m doing what I should—maybe this is the right path. Maybe not. Either way, I’m going follow it for a bit, maybe more than a bit. I’m feeling human again. It’s nice to have butterflies about a cute boy, who is very sweet. He’s about as different from him as possible. That, in and of itself, is confusing and strange. However, it may be the only thing that makes this doable.
There you go, your self-absorbed over thinking for the day. In my new fashion, I am shoving away all the crap (real and not) and focusing on how much better the past eleven days have been. Whatever pitfalls or mountain tops are in the near and distant future, I am choosing to take solace in this respite of a haven.