Category Archives: Anecdotes
It feels like we won’t get back together. I’m trying not to think about it. But the more I find myself incapable of thinking about the future without my picture frame around your face I can’t think about a future at all. Like my etch-a-sketch was shaken up and now it’s all blurry and blank where there once was a happy picture. Not a perfect one, I mean, how great do you think I am at etch-a-sketch? Awful, and geometry was the only math I got a B in my entire 16 years of schooling. Without that frame, I don’t see a thing. I’m trying to picture life by replacing that frame with other things.
Career: My frame looks harsher, but not in a bad way, just fulfilled by success instead of love.
Another person: Not the same, not a replacement, not right. But I also don’t know at all, since that frame is still all blurry.
Polycule: looks complex, unpredictable, and I can see the fear that you shared with me regarding that future. How ethereal and intangible it is. I guess monogamy somehow communicates a more substantial and sempiternal experience.
But again, I try not to think of this in a black and white frame, the world isn’t really binary like that. We live dialectically with lots of opposites coexisting in gray and through that process of analysis, we can find a middle ground.
A middle ground we are on the verge of giving up on. Turning our backs on this process feels like defeat to me. Like we’ve given up trying to love. At the end of the day you’ve presented your arguments:
- We are truly opposites and the compromise of being with me hurts you too much. The cost seems too high.
- The thought arises to both of us that if I, instead, take this burden, I will hurt you regardless.
- The future is unclear to both of us, and it always will be, but our distinctions of settling down and commitment are different. Our definitions are different and how my ideas are framed is in total opposition to yours. Maybe the dialectical approach isn’t good enough for you and traditional logic is all that works.
I picture us, in a house, the three of us, you and I and our capricious friend, happy. He says so, too. And its all up to you what happens, since 2/3 ain’t bad, but I think you’re the glue that’s holding it together after all. But regardless of that arrangement, we have work to do.
I agree with you on a lot of things I didn’t expect to. Your criticisms. Your fears. Even your differing values are looking morally superior. Our cultural, class, economic, and value systems may differ, but I know that our love is real. If that’s real, why can’t we work it out? Plenty of people marry into very different families, with race, religion, and culture being an afterthought, why not us?
At night I sleep with Icebat on my chest. A familiar headrest. Then, I have the blanket you gave me draped over my torso. The cool satin delicately weighing on me feels good in the heat and humidity. I couldn’t sleep with it on before, it wasn’t the season. Just like this summer wasn’t the season for us to be together. To sleep alongside you like the satin and the fur does when they slide against each other’s backs, sewed together on each edge.
Maybe this season wasn’t quite right. Too cold for the cool satin. To hot for the thick fur. Maybe it was the season for the two to be apart while being together, sewed on each edge but still back to back. Even though they face away, out to other things, looking in opposite directions, tearing apart, but without breaking bonds.
We created something two and a half years ago. We formed it when I had a panic attack each time we grew closer. We built it when I held you sobbing, silent, in my arms. We built it each time I snuck back into your bed after a night out. We built it with moss and chocolate. With cigarets under the canopy of green. By receiving noise complains and paying fines, writing essays about being addicts, having meetings to convince us to be sober. From collecting stupid things; pick-pocketing and shoplifting.
We built something I can’t tear down. It’s my frame I see the world through.
From all the talks we had through the night, in the lazy afternoons out on the old golf course, a language arose. Like any human group, a new dialect is created. Ours was quiet, telepathic. But we use words to talk around the words that are too hard to say. Phrases and stares to avoid the unspeakable. This style reflects something poetic about you that I love and hate to have out of my grasp. It’s a haunting torturous silence, unforgettably burdensome. At the same time, we both revel in it. Waiting for it to be broken with noise or movement.
Sometimes it never comes. Right now, there is static. A harsh white noise and I can’t turn it off and it’s not adequate enough to drown out the rage and sadness we both have swelling from us. Not loud enough to ease the silence between us.
I didn’t let it happen until now. I wasn’t letting myself feel it. But with each mascara stained tear, I can feel my heart breaking. It’s the most pathetic I’ve felt for a long while.
I refused to cry myself to sleep. Refused to cry at all. Holding my breath tightly, and then gasping for air in the bathroom at work.
- I have to remind you to breath
- I love this because the old as time saying “You take my breath away” is real for us. As cheesy as that is, I’m happy about it. But it gets a little weird when I’m laying on your chest and it stops moving for a little while and I look at you and say “Breath” and you let out the bits of air you were holding and start to inhale slowly. I always kiss you when this happens, and it starts all over again.
- You hate waking up.
- I do too, but lately when I wake up I can’t drift back to where I was and I’m so frustrated by it so I just want you to be a wake too so we can cuddle and talk.
- You make me food.
- one of the three items on the “Happy Zanthia” list, that must be completed daily or else I die, and you do this so well and happily…. I hate when people do things for me that inconvenience them or make them annoyed but because you love to cook and I love your cooking, everything is copasetic.
- We barely need alone time.
- Because both of us are so close and we don’t need to be having conversation together when we are together we barely need alone time. I mean occasionally both of us need to go and recuperate but I love being alone with you most.
- You are as curious as a 3 year old in a thrift shop.
- I watch you pick things up and touch them and feel how they work and it’s so entertaining watching you be fascinated so easily by random objects you find. Sometimes I’ll catch you playing with an assortment of weird metal bits and I’ll ask “Where do you find those?” and you’ll look up at me grinning and laughing like a kid and say “I don’t know!” and shrug your shoulders defensively. It makes me smile now just thinking about it.
- But at the same time, you make messes because you find things and never put them away or organize them. You go from one discovery to the next with no interludes or productivity, simply letting your brain lead you places physically without you consciously understanding that I can walk in your room without finding the most weird and disgusting assorted piles of items.
- You are a rolly polly baby.
- When you are stretching, frustrated, tired, concentrating, or simply laying down at all, you roll around in your bed on your stomach and become the cutest bundle I have ever laid eyes on.
- This also means your covers are always a mess, and your hair. But I love it.
- You are a furnace.
- I need this. Chronically cold feet and hands because of my health issues is a curse, but you are my savior with your very hot skin (in more than one way).
- You like to sing in the stairwell
- `Going along with your hilarious curiosity, you discovered that the echoey noises your voice makes in the stairwell is really pleasing and you go in there to sing just for fun… I don’t know a single person who would do this just purely on their whim.
- To be continued.
As per request from wonderful friends, I will write my stories and little notes I’ve taken from my experiences.
In highschool, I –for some strange reason– became the Guru of anything pertaining to romance and sex for couples and friends. One of my closest friends, Minecrafter of Aphrodite (we will call him MoA for short) asked me to teach him to kiss since he had just started dating his first girlfriend. It was his sophomore year of highschool and my Junior year, so I took his request. I thought for a while about a way to verbally teach him and came to the conclusion that strawberries would be the best analogy.
See, giving someone step-by-step directions going through how to move their lips, tongue, and cheeks would be a disaster and I’d end up just making a bunch of weird faces at him. I didn’t find this an attractive way to teach or a useful way for him to learn how to handle another person.
I ended up telling him this:
“Imagine you are holding a succulent, juicy, strawberry. You don’t take the strawberry and rip into it with your mouth like an animal, nor do you lick it all over with your tongue and rub its juices all over your face. No, you gingerly press it to your lips and then take it slightly into your mouth between your lips and put pressure down on it. Don’t get complex or you won’t be savoring the taste. Start slow and then if you find out the strawberry isn’t reluctant, move forward. Silent communication.”
Now strawberries are not essentially sexual (like a banana) or romantic (like chocolate), but I think they are perfect for this situation since kissing can be either very emotional or apathic. Kissing is what you make it and what you put into it. It’s a way of communicating your intentions and feelings, or the lack thereof.