Rough Winds Do Shake

You may have noticed a certain silence here around a certain Marathon Date with a certain Smokin Hot Mae. We ate good food, we lounged in bed, we read papers, we napped, we engaged in some Hot Damn Pants Removal. We went to a barbeque, glaze-eyed and yawning from all the day’s hard work; left early. We walked home with our arms wrapped around each other, I dropped her off at her house and walked up the stairs to mine.

I was exhausted. In my brain and heart. But doing okay.

Until I went to bed. I picked up my book, thumbed to the right page, and started bawling. I turned the light off. I kept bawling. I curled up, wishing I could fall asleep and wake up and not feel like my organs, vital and vestigial, were hovering on precarious stilts over a large body of salty water.

++

It was a hard decision to make, but I emailed her the next day. Told her I freaked out, told her I couldn’t date anyone.

I know, I know. Email? Not classy. Not my best move. Though I like to think that I’m good enough with manners of the heart, that I am in the Advanced Class, and thus know when it is appropriate to break rules that have been put in place for a very good reason.

Mostly, it turned out okay because Mae is a nice person, and moreover, she was feeling the same way. Had felt, even. Her Sunday night was tired and melancholy too.

This is why dating sucks. Because you meet someone you like, and you go out with them. And that’s nice, so you do it again. And they’re a really good kisser. So you do it again. And then it turns out that they embody all those things you said you wanted. So you keep on doing it.

And then one day your heart folds in folds in folds in on itself, into a pinprick black hole and you’re hurting numb all over. And you just can’t do it again and it just totally fucking sucks.