The intensity I feel within me has been pretty well contained to only myself with a few exceptions. Rather than spill over into a person (or people), I spill into my notebook instead. I’m still fairly consistent with my journaling. Last week, I went two days in a row without writing, but on the third day (Sunday) I wrote a page for each one I’d missed. It felt grounding to go back and reflect on the days passed. I even went so far as to read some paragraphs from the last entry to get an idea of what had even happened during that time. It’s not that I drank or smoked too much to recall, there was just a lot to report on and it kind of felt blurred together when first thinking on it. That, and my memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be. That could be a result of smoking. Or maybe age. Something else? Possibly. All of the above? No doubt.

While my short term memory may not be what it once was, memories are still my friends. My mind has been replaying moments of softness as a way to lull me through this period of loneliness. I don’t even know if I’d call it loneliness, because I don’t actually want to put in the effort to meet anyone new. I just want to be understood and held from time to time. Well, I want to be understood always and only held from time to time. Though, if I think about it long enough, I can see how I might not want to be understood. I enjoy feeling like I’m the only person who knows me. I say this only as someone who’d once given herself to another in a way she’d never before. I don’t know if picking up all of those pieces, only to realize some would be lost forever, is something I’d do again.

One of the moments that’s made its way into my mind is a six-hour or so span of time. I was in and out of sleep the entire time, as was she. It wasn’t until the sun began to rise that hands and fingers traced and lingered along skin.

At one point, she placed my hand on her chest as a means to ground her. Do you know what it’s like to share such a close silence with someone you hardly know? I’d almost say it’s intoxicating, but that would insinuate toxicity is involved, and I refuse to entertain that narrative. I also wouldn’t call it magical, because that seems like a naive word to use. It was short and sweet and I should probably stop thinking about it. I won’t though, not yet.

Plenty of time has passed and it’s hard to say whether a game is being played, or if this is something I’ve conjured in my head. What we’re doing is maybe more of a dance. Games seem more intentional, you know? Dancing feels easier, less intense. Again, I think this could also be something that my mind is doing as a form of entertainment, not necessarily something that’s really happening. I wonder if she knows that each time she likes a photo or reacts to a story, her name in some way shows up on my phone. Maybe she doesn’t realize that at all. Perhaps it’s a mindless act and I’m reading into it. I have a tendency of only reading into what is there, though there’s a first time for everything. Some things to consider: We don’t text. I don’t have her number, but I do see mine at the top of our message thread. I don’t regret sending it, but it’s odd to know she has it and hasn’t done anything with it. I understand why she hasn’t. I don’t know if she ever will, or if she should. Maybe this slow dance, the one that’s in my head, is what’s best.

Relatedly, I’m feeling surprisingly good about not being anyone’s anything. Like, I go through phases of wanting to feel and be told and shown that I am someone’s romantic priority. I know that while I’m not craving that right now, I might someday again. The lack of wanting another’s affection or attention helps make me want myself all the more. I’m asking the universe right now (this is my plea) to let this wave of self adoration ride out as long as it can. I think I can live with being The Other as opposed to being The One, because I am my own One. You know? Does that make sense? I know I will never be anyone’s one and only. I’ve written about not believing in that shit anymore anyway, but it still sounds nice. Or, it did for awhile at least. The thought of devoting myself to only one person seemed so secure to me, so stable for so long. Now, it really just seems like an unrealistic dream, as how can I expect anyone to limit themselves to me? I know I myself am limitless, but that doesn’t mean anyone can go that far with me, just as I can only go so far with another.

We all have our limitations within each other’s limitlessness. If that doesn’t make sense, it’s because life doesn’t make sense. I don’t make the rules.

Until next time.