Addiction

Today was a low, low day. My fantasies took over and he and I were a magnificent couple. We laughed about everything, our lips were made to lock onto each other's, our bodies touch was electric. There was nothing imperfect about us. It wasn't just lust, our friendship was solid. I wanted to tell him I couldn't stop finding coconut oil every time I went to the grocery store. Something we had an argument about at one point and laughed about later. I wanted to tell him about my design project and get his approval, his praise, his affection, his love.

A low, low day.

I even convinced myself on the drive home that I could call him and have him spend the night tonight. I could. I would feel TERRIBLE the next day, a rung out scrap of terrycloth afterwards. But I could. It would feel magnificent. To connect. To have that essence of us, shared and understood.

I keep getting caught in that net. That high. That gloriousness. And it was. It was.

I can't keep going there, and then worse yet, trying to slam the door on it. The fantasy has outweighed reality today. It's pressure is passionate. It grips me. I am consumed by it. I cannot shake it. Oh lord, I have tried. I went straight to dance class, and on the way to watch a movie with my girlfriends right after, I stopped by my Father's for some perspective. I convinced myself if I told someone, told EVERYONE that I was having these thoughts there would be some accountability. Tears came, a mere side affect. I know better than to try and shut it out, to turn it off. It only breaks into a million swarming bees with my head in it's hive. So how to face this thunderous knock at my heart? This insatiable cat's tongue in my chest, as I explained it to my step mother tonight.

Hold it dearly, she said. Give it the attention it asks for. Love is the answer. When it's clawing to get out, cradle it gently and bask it in my love. No judgements, no answers, just time.

I drove to his house after the movie with my girlfriends. I was right there.

I parked across from his car, his porch light was on. The house was dark.

I felt nothing.

Surprised that I didn't instinctively attempt to get out of my car, I tried to remember. I turned the screw and thought of every memory I had on that porch, and in that kitchen, at that table, on that couch. Nothing. Just memories. And so I left.

The farther I got from his house, the more emotion came. I thought, 'should I go back and walk up to the door and see what happens? Should I have sat on the porch?' And my heart began to race. But not when I was there. Because that house was not a part of the fantasy, it was the truth. And so is he and so am I. And I do love him and we had good times.

Right?