“You don’t want to be my friend?” she cried.

“Babe, we’ve never been friends,” I replied. I could feel my own tears welling up inside.

How did we get here?

Oh, I can identify some missteps along the way. None of them matter, because here we are. She doesn’t have to buy what I’m selling. And I don’t have to settle for less than I desire.

“Don’t look at it as the end of the book,” the social media warriors chant. “Look at it as an exciting new chapter!”

Fuck that, frankly. I don’t want to keep reading this book. It fucking sucks.

Not to spoil Mockingjay, but there was a point, midway, where I threw the book against the wall and didn’t look at it again for a month. Anyone who’s read it knows why.

That’s how this feels.

I can’t believe I walked away from the most important person in my life. Yet, she can’t give me the love I crave from her.

“Right person. Wrong time.”

That old chestnut is all over the social media as well. Hell, we even mentioned it last night.

Fuck. I know she loves me. I know she needs to focus on herself. I know she’d like me by her side while she does it.

Yet, I can’t. Not anymore. What a waste of time. Resources. To be downgraded to “friends.”

I chose myself. I’m not a social being. I don’t need a friend that I will always be in love with. How fucking heartbreaking is that?

Now, we’ll find out if I can find, within myself, a reason to live beyond her.

Are we the soulmates we claim to be? Will we find each other again? I suppose we will see, but I’m no longer counting on it.

Damn, I just don’t want to be here anymore. Hearing her cry last night, knowing there’s nothing more to do at this moment in time. She didn’t see this coming.

Her sobs caught the attention of her mother, so she left the call before we were finished. Maybe nothing else needs to be said. Maybe...

Afterward, insomnia paid me a visit. I knew this would tear me up. Maybe that’s why I entertained the notion of “friends.” Maybe that’s why we both let this drag on for so long. Better to keep each other close. Because we do love each other.

One of us just isn’t “in love” any longer. Which sucks.

She can’t have me if she doesn’t want me.

And I’m not being honest with myself if I accept friendship. Not when I yearn for the excitement we had last summer.

I wasn’t looking for you to reenter my life. Now, I don’t know what I’ll do as you exit it. I am grateful to share bits of our lives with each other. You know me better than anyone else.

Including that I am weak where you’re concerned. Which is why we can’t do this. Not without going for it.

Fuck the next chapter. I don’t want to read anymore. I just want to taste you again.

What i'm listening to:

No More “I Love You’s”
Annie Lennox
Medusa

I don’t want to talk to you anymore either. Bye.

It doesn’t take much. A glimpse. A word. A titty.

The smallest distraction, and it’s gone. Whatever I was thinking about. Whatever I wanted to get down on paper. Gone. Poof. Not even a puff of smoke.

Writing is hard these days. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why she’s here. This poor, tortured soul whom I’ve gotten to know. She has beauty. Inside and out. Dancing with so much ugliness.

The beauty? Innate. The ugliness? That was given to her. A gift.

A profound, disappointing gift. Yet she accepted it.

We’re taught, it’s impolite to refuse a gift. So we accept... everything. Even if it harms us.

Can two lost souls ever find happiness? Probably not.

Yesterday, there was so much hate in her eyes. She’s angry at life. The world. And yesterday, she took it out on me. It wasn’t the first time. And it won’t be the last.

She knows I see her. That I’m the only one in her world who does. I reminded her of that. Not to take out her frustration on me.

Not five minutes later, the apology. She knows. She really is a storm of emotions. Of conflicting desires.

Aren’t they all, though?

Simply a storm. Or maybe the sea to my shore.

My own will to live is inside this woman. Deep, deep inside. Each time, I can only hope to plug in deeper... yet I still cannot reach that which eludes me. Thrusting with the essence of my very soul, striving to penetrate her spark.

What i'm listening to:

Stormy
Classics IV
Mamas and Papas/Soul Train

What do people do?

Is this where the bad decisions come from? Idle hands and all that?

Here, I find myself with a day off. And nothing to do. At least there is nothing I have to do. Today.

I can stay in bed. All day. Glorious, no?

Except, that is what I do. All day. Nothing.

Clarissa calls me. “What are you going to do today?”

I have no answer. Other than, “I can come over.”

“That’s not what I want,” is her reply.

Here, I lie in bed. With nothing to do.

Yet, people do things. Have I always been like this? Just sitting in neutral with no tasks at hand?

I joke. “My hobby is sleeping,” I say. It’s not wrong though. It’s no joke. Some days, I don’t leave the apartment. Or the cottage. Or the house.

At times, I adventure. No city is too far. Nor countryside. Nor attraction. Nor mountain, nor monument.

But why? For those Marriott beds? Perhaps. Because I will sleep on “vacation” too. Hmm.

No drive.

Yes, I will wander into the out. I will find something to eat. Likely a sandwich or a taco. Preferably a taco, but again she doesn’t want to see me. I will go get some things from the store. Fabric softener is at the top of the list.

I need a haircut. The bedding needs washed. Or warshed, depending on your dialect. I used to exercise—walks, lifting at the gym, runs. Hell, I used to eat far more protein than I currently do. My back hurts, so a trip to the chiropractor definitely won’t hurt. I have more books to read than I can finish before I die. I’m tragically pale—and unhappy—so a few minutes under the happy lights is an option as well. I used to write. More. A lot more.

And there’s plenty of time in the day to do it. But there’s television. And doom scrolling. Clarissa will call again and we’ll talk—probably for hours. She is also doing nothing. Sitting in the dark. Thinking. About everything. About life.

When did we become so lost? So idle? Devil’s playthings, indeed.

Yet, I am so comfortable. Lying in this bed. Typing this out on a laptop. I can roll over and go back to sleep. And it will be glorious. Satisfying. I’m so relaxed.

What if comfort is an indication that I am less? The key indicator that I am NOT doing the right thing? What if it’s my drug. Not unlike her. This euphoric sensation of the next narcoleptic wave that will whisk me away to dreamland. Where adventure and sex and love and action await.

Seriously, what do people do? And what will I do today?

I don’t know how to not be Superman. Even though I’m not a… super man. I know she’s hurting, I can feel it. And as much as I wish I knew what to do, I really don’t. I don’t even know if being there for her is the right move.

Is she depleting me? If she is, I don’t feel it. I am never more at peace than in her presence—even during her moments of chaotic turmoil.

She doesn’t fully believe that she can escape… no, that’s not the right word… affect her life. Her lifestyle. All she has known is being sexualized. Which is a tragedy, because she is a beautiful woman. And confident… most of the time. But she only knows she doesn’t want life as it is right now.

And escape. Escape is tantalizing. Life is long and hard and mostly dull. So, this is what attracts us to new experiences… someone new may come along, and we like them, so we trust them immediately. A couple of drinks later, we’re opening up to them. Next thing you know, we’re friends. Maybe a little bit more.

We all have demons—some we control, some we ignore, yet all are dangerous—but we try to put on our best mask. We smile. And, Lord, the drink helps here. Because, it is so much easier than full honesty.

Ask how I know.

In seven years, we both harbor secrets. Yes, honesty is important. Yet I don’t want or need to know everything she has (or wants) to share. Or not. All I can do is be here for her to listen. To help her through this struggle. Maybe more, but we’re starting here.

Does she want me to share more? Possibly, yet I have no way of knowing.

Over the last several days, she has shown me that I matter. Yet she is so slow to trust. Maybe it’s because we’re taught that anyone who is too good to be true must be. I’m not the ideal candidate, yet we share a genuine affection for each other. Even if we don’t exactly know what to do about it.

No, I’m not Superman. I cannot save her. I may not be able to save myself. But I cannot leave her to face her demons alone.

Right now, I’m more than her friend. Right now, I cannot be her lover. Right now, I can be her champion. I can listen when she wants to talk. I can take care of certain things with her and for her. I can show her how much she matters. To her daughter. To her family. To me. To herself? Maybe. Eventually. That may take some time.

It’s true. We can only heal through radical honesty. With others? Yes, but that falls flat when we’re not being radically honest with ourselves. That’s when the victim mentality sets in.

Are we sure we did nothing to let this happen? Sometimes we only have to open the door… and discover that a friend is not really a friend. Yet closing ourselves off is not the answer either.

She’s sleeping so peacefully right now, and I weep while I wish for her to hold onto this peace while awake. And at night. Nights are the hardest, I know, my love, and it’s terrifying when one of the demons follows you into the daylight. I know you want to understand why it happened. How anyone who professes love to you can betray you. Some answers are not ours to discover… only karma or the universe can sort it out.

Yet this is her dark night of the soul. I suppose I can accompany her, but ultimately this is her path to walk… alone. And all I can do is stay on my own path and offer support within my means. Will there be moments of tough love? Times when I’ll have to wait outside the dark cave while she does battle? I have no doubt.

I am learning a lot about love. What does it mean to be there for someone? When she’s sick? What if she loses the battle? What if the demons win?

And what about me? I am the way I am, because I never wanted to take care of anyone in my life… hell, let’s be honest. I never wanted to care for anyone else in my life. This. This is way this young woman blindsided me. Was there an initial attraction? Yes, but this was more. It’s like our souls touched. And entangled.

So, I couldn’t let go even if I wanted to. Herein lies yet another lesson. Because I have to hold on to myself. No matter what happens with this woman. I have glimpsed her life. Getting sucked in can ruin me. Pulling her out will require effort on her part… something she possesses today, but the past has a strong hold on us. Limiting beliefs. Indoctrination. That shit is buried deep in our psyche. And we trend lazy. Working on growing every single day is exhausting. If only we just grew… without thought. Like the plants. I wonder, do the plants feel pain? And what if growth didn’t have to hurt? Or healing?

So much of our past is comfortable. And there have been great times with people who ultimately betrayed us. And it sucks. I believe it is important to remember that each new day is a fresh start. That our sins can be forgiven. And that we can find peace.

Today marks an anniversary of sorts. Kind of.

On this day, nineteen years ago, I was writing about the demise of a three-ish year relationship in the spring and my recovery. I recalled my girl, 26, had left me for an older man, 53.

And, out of curiosity, I had to sit and do the math. Because I didn’t note their ages. At the time, I was 33.

I’m reading this piece and marveling at how... offended... I was at this. Of course, I was the lover betrayed.

Then, I find this li’l nugget:

This morning, i had the horrible thought that she is setting me up to become her "ideal" , single, fifty-something who has to seduce twenty-somethings to get his rocks off... because at this moment, it feels like i will never find anyone like her.

Incredible.

Here we are. Today. I am fifty-two. My current girl is twenty-seven. I adore her and cannot imagine life without her and... “it feels like I will never find anyone like her.”

Interesting.

What i'm listening to:

Bad Dreams
Teddy Swims
Bad Dreams

I’ve got regrets... but I don’t regret a single day I spent with you.

Wait. I regret one. The one that changed the course of the entire relationship. The one you could never let go of. The one day/morning/moment I can never take back.

You wanted it to work. We both did.

I frustrated you. In that critical first moment. And I broke your heart. And our relationship...

[ more.. ]

I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm - he came around like
He was dignified
He showed me what it was to cry
Well you couldn’t be that man I adored
You don’t seem to know - don’t seem to care
What your heart is for
No I don’t know him anymore

So I guess the fortune teller’s right
I should have seen just what was there
And not some holy light
But you crawled beneath my veins
And now I don’t care
I have no luck
I don’t miss it all that much
There’s just so many things
That I can’t touch

There’s nothing where he used to lie
My conversation has run dry
That’s what is goin’ on
Nothin’s right

I’m torn
I’m all out of faith
This is how I feel
I’m cold and I am shamed
Lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changed
Into something real
I’m wide awake
And I can see the perfect sky is torn
You’re a little late
I’m already torn

One may bask at the warm fire of faith or choose to live in the bleak uncertainty of reason — but one cannot have both.

What i'm listening to:

Torn
Natalie Imbruglia
Left of the Middle

“Can you tell me why you like me so much?”

The question she asked was sincere. She’s looking up at me, with those deep brown eyes... yearning for an answer. I don’t have one.

Does it matter why, my love? Is it not enough that we are here, right now, in this moment? What purpose will it serve feeding your ego at this moment.

Yet it does matter. She’s visibly getting angry. She’s been hurt before. She wants to know that this is real. That it will last. That I’m the one.

Yes, this is real. No, it will not last. No, I’m no one.

I am only here to remind you how to love. How to feel again.

They say everything happens for a reason. I disagree. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I don’t believe everything happens for a reason we are humanly aware of.

I can’t tell you why I “like you so much.” I am still trying to figure that out.

Yet I do. Like you. I like this moment. I love providing you glimpses of safety and security. I love being inside you. I love your touch. Your smell. Your taste.

I sense that you want me to tell you that this is permanent. Nothing is permanent, my love. Forever doesn’t exist for people like us. We are here now. Can’t we enjoy the now? Without clouding it with the fear of the future? Because it is fear. You’re already dreading the thought of being without me.

Let’s enjoy this moment now. So what if I can’t tell you why.

“Come. Shower with me.”