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Monday, 7 October 2013

It's all but decided

I guess this is what it feels like when you're the one who initiates a break-up. 

I've been thinking about it quite a lot for quite some time, if you hadn't noticed. I've rehearsed what I want to tell him and it didn't quite hit me square in the face until I tried explaining it to someone else (and confirmed every conclusion up to that moment with a question about a secretive e-mail friend on Guyspeak). It doesn't matter if I love him to pieces. It doesn't matter if he's the only person who knows me and seems to like me for me enough that I allow him to sexualise me. He also happens to be in a committed relationships and all such thoughts should be kept quiet if they can't be helped. His relationship with his girlfriend is none of my business and the fact that he fantasises about me is not enough of an excuse to delude myself further. I'm ashamed to admit to stalking so shamelessly, but riddle me this: how often do you suppose grown women in their late twenties/early thirties put their hair into ringlets and adorn it with flowers? How likely is it that it was for a special occasion? If you haven't taken a leap yet, I'll go ahead and jump to my conclusion anyway: what if they're already fucking married?

He hasn't mentioned her since he let on they live together and I assumed they were "practically married" then. He's talked about "we" and I've known it included her going on vacation and going to his parents' place for dinner. He doesn't talk all that much about his personal life (not that he has to, we're agreed that's how internet-based friendships work: you get to choose what you share). If he got married, he wouldn't tell me. And yet I'm still trying to piece the bits together: my past dreams about him proposing, the secrecy, the omissions, the flowers in her hair.

Fortune cookie philosophy should be a thing in this blog. Last week's fortune cookie reads "BE CAREFUL, YOU ARE EASILY TEMPTED" and I can't help but agree: I won't deny I considered being that passionate tango dancer and mistress. I toyed with the idea of him being with me. in real life. eventually

We have to break up. I want to phrase at as a "Can we talk about dark red lipstick? We can't talk about dark red lipstick anymore" but I know it will actually wind up meaning "I don't think we can go on being friends anymore." I considered writing him an e-mail but that feels cowardly and I think he should have the choice of correcting me/proving me wrong/being quiet while I talk because this is not just me. It's about our friendship and "our," by definition, implies it can't be just about me.

The unsent e-mail. Second edition.

Hey. Can we talk? 

Can we talk a serious talk? Can we talk about dark red lipstick?

I have to be very honest. Painfully and awkwardly so, even. Let's not beat around the bush: when you put the ideas of "me" and "dark red lipstick" together, you're sexualising me. 

It's not a bad thing on it's own. I'm flattered. If I'm to be sexualised, it's best if that's done by my friend who likes the way I laugh, who feels a connection with me, who thought I was beautiful when I looked like Snape, who knows the way I lean against a wall and can read right through me and hug my insecurities away with words... should he be single. 

When you imagine me wearing dark red lipstick, you probably picture a passionate, smouldering temptress. When I try to access the same image, all I can see is one of the whores who sing "Lovely Ladies" in Les Misérables

It has nothing to do with how I feel about you. You know I like you. I can't say it without crossing a lot of lines but I'll cross them today to make my point. I like you. There's a special place for you in my heart and in the back of my head and that's not as cheesy as it sounds because it's true and I mean it. When I say it's lovely talking to you, even when you talk about things you say are boring, I'm not just saying it. Talking to you and reading your e-mails can make my day.

The thoughts cross my head:

"Close your eyes, remember me and summer school and smile."

"I had a dream about you the other night. (We had sweaty, passionate sex and it was sweet and it felt natural and it was amazing.)"
"I can imagine you with dark red lipstick (smeared) on your lips (from kissing me... passionately)."

"Think of me when you go to sleep. I'll do the same."

"Dream of me wearing dark red lipstick (and seducing you)."

... and I censor them out of existence because it's bad enough you have to talk to me in secret, I'll feel worse if I justify the secrecy by saying anything that shouldn't be said to a man in a committed relationship. 

I can't get rid of my feelings. Be things as they may, I really do care about you as a friend, I remember hugging you goodbye and daydream of the day I might hug you hello. I can only control what I do about my feelings and I'll hold them back as much as I think is appropriate. 

When you mention the dark red lipstick, I struggle to find the words that should reach you next because I can't speak my mind freely and to ignore what you just said is like dismissing your feelings, which I don't like to do. Telling you to censor what you feel is wrong, so I can only ask you to censor what you let on about what you feel.

Let us please not talk about dark red lipstick again.

I realise this might mean "I think we shouldn't go on being friends." The thought scares me and saddens me because I've always felt like there was a time limit on our friendship and at any point you'd just drop off the face of the Earth and now I'm almost asking you to do just that.

Soundtrack of the day "Te aviso, te anuncio." Yes, by Shakira. I know it's 12 years old. I know I don't even like Shakira that much. But it's quite fitting and it just sprang to life in the back of my head and won't go anywhere.


(There is, surprisingly, no official version of this. Go figure.)

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