One year ago today, I was in LA; in bed with a stranger; trying everything I could to get over you. We weren't even over officially, but I guess we had never really begun either, so I got a start on things by sleeping with strangers while you slept with friends.
You knew so little about me and my life-- and vice versa-- even after so long. But, like the stench of a packed bus, your scent lingered as I struggled to put down the coconut oil and return to the comfort of lavender or gardenia. You clung to me like you did to Home. You said you hated the end and wanted to get out of there, yet you lingered and crept... staring at me from across the belly bowl, or on the path outside Sprouts. And maybe the fact that you knew nothing of me was the way you could stay so attached. You certainly would have run had you known anything real. I was, after all, the only lover you've had who was together. And that was why you finally let go.... And that was why I finally moved on. I could not be as fucked up as you needed me to be in order for you to love me.
So, it was surprising, jarring, scary in fact, to start this love affair with her, realizing that we both knew more about each other than I had known about my lover of more than a year and a half. Even that word, lover, seemed more apropos with her than it ever did with you, even though she and I had never even kissed; felt the softness of each other's hearts; caressing our souls as we lay naked and spent. She knew these intimate details that I had only shared with the entire world, and still she liked me. She saw me splayed open on the floor without ever having met me. And she held me in ways that made me think: This could actually be what love feels like before it turns into love.
And then she was gone. Radio silence.
And I am left to the same thoughts that I had with you.... was that even real or did I just imagine it as some fucked up recurring nightmarish dream? The kind you can't tell if you are in a nightmare or a dream; The kind you don't want to wake up from, because you just need to figure it out; the kind you are committed to seeing through to the end.
And it did. It ended with you, so much later than it should have, with so much more heart break than was necessary... and it ended with her, so much earlier than it should have, with so much more heart break than was necessary...
And I want more than anything to hear the knock of my door, and see you standing there.... but I know that would not be anymore real than the way too long I wasted on you... and I want more than anything to see her walking up the stairs, having come to visit with a bouquet of flowers and a sweet grin... Instead I am here alone with this Radio silence