T tells me he has been talking to a girl online for some time.

It is different from the other girls he has met online. She is mentioned separately. In a clause of her own. In a whole new tone.

She’s from *insert a city from the tiny country I grew up in*. Well, but she’s traveled around a bit in other countries. She is just.. has ...the sweetest, sexiest... I’ve ever.. I mean.. wow. And picture after picture, I couldn’t believe it was her. Some candid too. But just so real too, not, you know, perfect. Just so...yeah.


He sounds quite smitten.

That her and I have lived in the same place makes me laugh. It is an unnecessary twist in the story. For her to share even the smallest thread of me makes me strangely happy. (breaks my heart)

I should show you photos, he says. I almost don’t want to. Hell, it’ll probably turn you into a lesbian. You’re gonna forget about me. Feel kinda jealous. I mean... she’s just... so much prettier than me.

We laugh.

Yes, well, I reply. I don’t think I’m going to be the one talking to her so...

I am laughing (crying) inside at this attempt of his to make light of the facts. I know he is trying to voice my own jealous fear in his round-about way, consciously or not.

How... insensitively sensitive.

The idea of this casting off of someone for another is not a pretty one to bring up.

As much as I knew that is how it would likely be.

Maybe I have waited too long to write this and now need to jump to conclusions.

But like I've said, it doesn’t matter, her, another, now, later.

And it is not like I will be replaced, no. It is worse.

A replacment I could try and chalk up to a general restlessness, out of my hands.

But no, she will probably be given what I have never been offered, whether I wanted it or not.

(sometimes i did, sometimes i didn’t)

(sometimes love wanted naught. but then sometimes I could never love you enough if I couldn’t love the way you loved me too.)

(there is no real bond without it. in limerence , you’re just a strainer for the kinds of loves-- the ones that have an actual flow the way you know deep-down they should--to slip away. everything falls in, welcome, everything falls out, gone. you’re left holding nothing in the end. you’re left fingering the now drying debris fondly.)

(convoluted, forced metaphor for such an obvious thing)

(really i haven’t a clue. )


Thing is I know he would not do it abruptly, cruelly. No, he would be smooth. There would be a morphing, a thoughtful pause in between, phase out me, phase in her. He is probably even doing it now already, easily.

Because the thing about charming people is... they know. They know how to do it.

It is a large responsibility, to know what effect you and your wants have on others. I know he knows this. Most prefer to remain clueless; it gives you more fuzzy freedom. And it is not manipulative or demeaning I think with him. I think he knows each person decides in the end what to do.

Just this weight to his interactions, an awareness of his own momentum.

If he told any lies, it was to be kind. I wonder if sometimes he lies to himself, is kind to himself, convinces himself what he feels is his duty is the same as how he really feels.

But only in small ways. Just in the way he will know when to call, when to apologize, when to ask how you feel, at what point to bring things up, what to hold back, what to tell, what to tweak first a little bit away from the truth then tune a little bit towards until the time is right, what best version of the story of his feelings to present, where to put the emphasis so it comes out just right.

He gets what he wants in the end. Nothing is truly denied. It is just that the picture is tidier. There is less drama along the way. Everyone comes out less scathed.

Am I the one like this?

I am being cynical I think. He is just cautious, cares. Actually it makes his occasional spontaneity all the more charming.

Even that he’s got down. (the bastard.)

What more can you ask from someone?

( a lot)

Yeah, it doesn’t make it that much better, does it?

(nope)

The way that it is done does not change certain things.

I want him to be happy. I know I mean it.

(if she turned out a freak there’d be relief.)

Maybe what I fear the most is to be forgotten.

Or the reasons why I might be.

But then I think, why does it matter? I’m me. I know who I am.

God damn. I know who I am.



(sometimes always too much, sometimes mostly never enough)