Epilogue, or somewhere in the middle

It's so hard not to wonder what it was I did that drove him away. I knew it that morning. The morning we got up, after fucking again, we sat with coffee and tea for a while talking, he took a shower, and got on the train to go home. I knew it then. I knew before he got on the subway when he gave me a tight lipped, close mouthed peck goodbye. I sensed something had changed. But I didn't know what.

So I started to go over it in my mind. Every detail (that I could remember - I had drank a bit) of what was said and done in the hours he was here. In the weeks before that night as we worked our way into bed. I remembered his enthusiasm. He seemed genuinely interested in me. We talked about our lives and things and it was close and intimate. And we kissed a lot and that was amazing. And he obviously wanted more.

Until he didn't want any. Was it something I said? Was it the coffee - I'm a tea drinker, so maybe my coffee was really awful? Was it my apartment? My bed? My cat? Where I live? My body? My body. It could have been my body. As I said in the other post, I'm okay. I look pretty damn good for 48. But I look better with clothes on, it's just the truth. I'm not fat, but I'm not toned, either. I'm a bit flabby. I have an unattractive ass. My tits sag a bit (although they're really not too bad).

But maybe that's what it was. He expected something else. The outside package promised something that, once opened, didn't deliver.

I go over and over in my head what it could have been. The truth is I'll never know. He won't answer my e-mails or phone calls (not that I'm badgering him with both, but it's been 3 days). He is now among the disappeared.

I know someone out there is going to say 3 days isn't a long time, but in fact it is, isn't it? Think about it. You've spent a couple of weeks talking to someone almost everyday. Talking and flirting and getting together and kissing and walking hand-in-hand and then talking some more. And then you fuck. And then it's so quiet you could hear a water drop. It may not sound like a long time, but in comparison to what preceeded it, it's eternity.

The truth is I just don't know if I can do this anymore. If I can keep doing the meet and greet thing. Getting to know people. Feeling like there's a connection, only to find it was a short lived one. Only to end up feeling like there's something seriously wrong with me. I can't do it anymore. I'm exhausted. I'm too old for this. How about that. I'm not the resilient 20-something who can bounce back with hope for the next one. I don't really have that hope. There aren't too many next ones for me. It's just reality.

If I have to spend the rest of my life alone, I'd rather not spend it at all. It feels so pathetic. Going out with friends all the time. Always being at a movie or dinner with a girlfriend. A middle aged girlfriend. Two middle aged women alone. It's so obvious we're single. It feels so obvious. I can't stand it.

Having had even the couple of weeks with him where, when out, we walked hand in hand, or my arm in his, makes the absence of it so profound. It makes me realize how much I miss it. Belonging to someone and knowing someone belongs to me.

I know this is pathetic. But, you know what? This is my blog and I feel pathetic. This is what I have to say right now. It's eating at me so I have to write it out. You don't have to read it.

You may also think that I was somehow smothering or too clingy, but be assured that wasn't the case at all. In fact, when we were together, he was the one always touching me. My hands over the table. Holding hands while walking. Flirting on the phone or e-mails or chats. I'm not a clingy person. I admit, I can be a bit insecure, but this disappearing act is why.

Remember when you were first in love with someone? That feeling that you couldn't get enough of them? You wanted to spend every minute somehow connected? You felt connected, even when you weren't together. And then, when you were together, you had to touch them in some way. A hand on their leg, or arm, or hand. Or even just leaning against them, and they against you. Kissing all the time, fucking as often as you could.

That's what I want again. That's what I thought I'd found.

I guess I'm too old for that now. I guess I can never really have that again. Maybe it's too adolescent. Too idealistic. I guess at 48 it's unrealistic to think it's even possible. The most I can hope for, if I can hope for anything at all, is someone I like spending time with. Someone I can talk to. Someone I don't mind kissing. Or fucking.

I guess I'd better start to realize that, unless I want to be alone forever, I will have to settle for someone. That just breaks my heart.