Letter to B

I came so close to breaking down and calling you today. I thought I had tentative plans for this evening but it turns out I misunderstood. They fell through and I took it badly. Very badly. In the end, I had to get out of the house. I went over to the empty house and checked the mail. Fortunately, the girl with the painted pink dress wasn't there so I watched two episodes of Friends. Laughing does make me feel better. Then I sat on the front step, smoked a cigarette in the dark and came home. I told myself before I left there that I would force myself to watch a movie when I got home. When I was sitting on the front step, I decided on Love Actually. Jamie and Aurelia do make me feel better.

But before I left to go over to the empty house, I looked for you online. You were on Skype. I almost contacted you but something in my brain clicked over and I didn't. Perhaps the thought of how humiliating the conversation would have been if I was crying. I didn't want you to think I was begging for you to take me back. I'm not, but my heart does feel like it's hardening over. Not breaking; that would be too cliche.

Or maybe it was the thought of how much worse I would feel if I tried to call you and you didn't answer. You would know that I had tried and be gratified that I broke down. And I wouldn't have had the comfort of hearing your voice.

At one point in the movie, Carl tells Sarah that she is beautiful. And I heard echoes of your voice saying the same to me. I cried and cried and it felt awful. I never want to feel like this again. I don't know if I miss you or if I miss having someone to reach out and hold onto. The thing is, there have been so few times in the past couple of months that, when I reached out, I found something to hold. That feeling, of having an illusion shattered, the disappointment of believing and being proven wrong, I think, is even worse than knowing that I am really and truly alone.

Although I can and do take care of myself, although I know that I don't need anyone for anything, often I feel as though a significant part of me is missing. Like the other half of a twin should be right there within reach but is always somehow just out of my grasp.

Will I ever find what I am looking for? The more I ask myself that question, the less likely I think that I will find it in you.