He has always been a slow burning obsession. Always there, in my dreams. We’ve kept in touch over the years. Getting together long enough to hurt each other and then shooting off like sparks traveling away from two metal pieces that are hurled at each other. It’s always been long distance. Him in College Town, USA- me like a spoke on a wheel around his axis point.
Speaking to him makes everything ok. Suddenly all the worry and anxiety that consumes me like fire is extinguished. And all I want is to return to that place with him where I felt safest. Drinking red wine, smoking some pot and playing cards. I feel like he knows me inside and out. Knowing me like I wish I new myself. Yeah, it’s that bad.
Occasionally I’ll fall for someone else. I become consumed with the start of a new relationship. The time where it’s all passion and it hasn’t become stale. When flirting and dating combine. Where you anticipate being with each other. Nights are planned and not taken for granted. When the passion seeps into the everyday ordinary, I become restless. And I start thinking of him again, my Fisher King.
I know we’ve both changed. I’m a slightly calmer person thanks in large part to drugs and in some part to experience. He’s gotten older, maybe older than I think. If only he would take time for himself, but no he goes on and agrees to help all. A Mother Theresa of the Acting World.
God, I’m so stuck. Mud – me, Me – mud. Stuck. I need to get a job, but doing nothing consumes me. So, nice to stay up late and sleep in. But money equals independence and the ability to buy stuff.