Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Lostmissing is a public art project -- I’d love it if you’d participate.
And here's what lostmissing #19 says:
Losing you, I can look back and see so many beginnings not the beginnings I used to see that cemented our relationship but the beginnings of our relationship ending. Even some of the things that could have made us more intimate, like that time when I said I thought I might want to have sex with you, I mean for so long I’d been trying to figure out ways to have sex that didn’t just feel like escape or desperation or lack so I thought sex with people I trust, and you made the most sense. You were the one I trusted physically too. It wasn’t a craving I thought it might be comfort. You were trying the reverse -- not to sexualize your friends, and so it didn’t make sense but I was glad I could say it. I thought it would make us closer.
Even if immediately I sensed you pulling back, I wanted to think I was imagining that. You knew how much I treasured the physical depth in our interactions that particular intimacy my other relationships lacked and I could sense it slipping away you became more distant. I thought: maybe you were just feeling distant maybe it wasn’t about me at all. You’d even told me my sense of boundaries was too rigid, that I was missing out on opportunities; I started to wonder if my boundaries were letting me down, keeping me from some of the intimacy I wanted from my other relationships not just ours.
I might as well go back to when we first met, we would sit at the same cafe and your best friend who was a dyke thought my best friend who was a dyke was hot but snotty and I thought you were hot but snotty, and I remember the duct tape on the back of your leather jacket or maybe it was your boots or maybe your boots and the back of your leather jacket and how it reminded me of one of the first guys I had a crush on the back of his leather jacket. Eventually we danced together at the bar where a certain group of dykes went to dance, and a much smaller group of fags who hung out with dykes, and then we were making out and sleeping together and already it was a dream. This dream of sluttiness shared, the dream we were enacting in crumbling apartments painted clashy colors to suit our moods this was the period when I would sign letters: crave intensity, don’t shun it.
The thing with you is that it just immediately felt like a shared experience of dreaming: really you were the one with more of that experience I’d just escaped who I was supposed to be. So we spent a lot of time in your kitchen, cooking. Cooking, and making out. Later when I met the person who became my first boyfriend and immediately you pulled back sexually but I didn’t understand that it was because you needed a boyfriend you would never have said that. Remember that dream of sluttiness shared? Still we got closer and closer, I remember when you would wake up in the middle of night screaming and I would soothe you back to sleep. Back then sleep wasn’t so much trouble for me. Or when you would eat nondairy ice cream and vomit it back up, and then eat it again, and I thought it was gross but kind of funny you had a lot of habits like that. There was a certain kind of intimacy seeing everything you would show me.
And then of course there was the anger, the anger that felt like strength, with you it was soft like holding hands while throwing bombs but I also got angry at the people I loved, like that time with that first boyfriend who later became your boyfriend, we were arguing and I threw something against the wall and he got scared I didn’t understand why. Back then I would routinely borrow pint glasses from cafes so I could drop them out my kitchen window just to listen to them shatter let the rage dissipate, of course I was scaring people too. I wonder what would’ve happened if I stayed angry like that.
I’m glad you changed your voicemail recording, briefly it got so friendly I started thinking wait, why didn’t you ever have a friendly message before? But now you say to leave a text message because your caller ID isn’t working. Maybe I’ll call you now, and see if you’ve changed it again.