I miss him tonight so much. I think I loved how we were friends AND lovers.
He made me be me, forced me to actually. It was a great time in my life. My best friend at the time and I had a fight, and as a last trial at hurting me he broke us up. I think it spiraled into some sort of mess, and kind of cleaned itself up on its own, but never really got back to where it was.
Secretly, I have never forgiven my friend for the mess he caused, but that's a whole other story.
My ex and I hooked up for single nights here and there over the last few years, but I can't get anything more it would seem. I want more. But that's life.
Our recent email transactions on facebook looked like this:
Me:
"Dear _____,
It bugs me that you are so handsome. It's distracting.
Sigh.
I miss you.
Is that dumb/lame/sad?"
Him:
"Ha ha no never dumb ....
Thank u love :)"
Me:
"Well I hope it's not too little too late _____, I know I hurt you before, and I can never apologize enough for it. But I'd really like to know you again. You're a special guy, and I've never really had you leave my mind."
_______________________________________________________________________
I feel as though I exposed myself too much to him there, but I thought as I sent it: better to say it than to always wonder.
Where is the fucking delete button?
Why can't I delete it?
I feel like I will face a horrid rejection in the morning, or whenever it is that he responds. Now I will probably continue to check my email every hour until he responds.
Ugh.
But it was all true. Somehow I allowed him to get hurt, I feel bad, I want him, and Jesus... He just gets more beautiful every time I see him or a picture of him.
I will figure this out. I will. But it's gonna hurt. I can already tell.
And what of the Ginger? and the engineer? I'd gladly walk away, no biggie. No commitment yet, nothing serious. I want this to feel serious. I want him.
Let's see how this pans out.
Maybe I might be surprised? Maybe it will be a good surprise?
Cross my finger and toes and heart that it will be.
Goodnight.
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