A letter never finished or sent.

It appears that, once again, I resort to the written word. This time, not because I’m afraid to talk to you in person, but because it’s too painful. Composure isn’t really in my vocabulary right now. Yes, I broke down crying when I saw you at the Brew. While I think some part of you is actually pleased by this, I doubt you know the complexities as to why. I don’t think you quite realized what our time together was like, at least my perception of it.

I sat through many shows, where you asked me to be there, being ignored by you and waiting until the show was done. Then we would go back to your place (never mine because it made you uncomfortable) which you usually didn’t tell me before hand, or made out like it was my decision and you could care less either way. Many times that meant a drive of over half an hour, usually leaving my car, despite it being newer. The parking lot was never safe for Clifford, but perfectly reasonable for Bun-Bun. As if I couldn’t see that you preferred to drive because of control issues, even when you really should not have been behind the wheel. But I accepted and allowed it, going with you. On rare occasions, usually when you were drunk, you’d be happy and loving. I treasure those moments and always will. More often you were caustic, cruel, criticizing everyone and everything that came to you mind, including me. Which I took quietly, with as much grace as I could muster, which wasn’t a lot. Any attempts to try to help you, care for you, or be kind in anyway, was met with scorn. There may or may not be sex, more often then not, you passed out of either alcohol or exhaustion. It was the mornings I grew to love, but even those were mixed. Laying there with you while you slept, those sweet moments of closeness when you where half asleep and didn’t have a problem letting me see how much you cared. It seemed worth it then, that you had no thought for my comfort, in any fashion. You know how much problems I have with sleeping, yet never was there a concern for anything on my behalf. It would be hours before you would finally get me back to car, most of the time without eating. Which I know couldn’t have been healthy for you, but blood sugar affects everyone to some extant. I was feeling ill myself by then, but never told you.

I never seemed much of a concern for you. When my grandmother died, you didn’t bother to check you email, despite that fact that we were conversing. In the weeks after when you knew I was back home, you never once called me to ask how I was doing. It wasn’t until you wanted my attention that you finally called. Whether you just wanted sex or genuinely missed me, I’m still not sure. When told about the blog that I keep, primarily for emotional reasons that few people know about, you proceeded to tell me how you thought blogs were bullshit and didn’t read them. You’ve been a friend on my facebook page for months, and never bothered to read it.

Now you tell me you have read it and I sound like ass. Now, that I’ve told you good bye, you show more concern for me then you ever did when I shared your bed. You demanded a hug from me, in public. This from the man who has denied hugs, kisses, and any other form of affection for various reasons from, “I don’t like public displays” to “ I just had a cigarette.” But you claim you are not behaving differently. You ignore me for weeks at a time and are now asking people after my well being. You’ve never done that. Whether you never bothered to care or didn’t want anyone to know you cared, I don’t know. You know the girl you're seeing is sleeping with other men, something that was completely unacceptable from me, even when things were casual. Why the difference? Is it that you felt the need to impose your morality on my marriage, defend my husband from my lascivious ways? Or were you genuinely jealous of other lovers? If so, why aren’t you jealous of hers? If not, why did, me having lovers other then you disturb you so?

But that is what loving you is like, so many questions. I fell in love with you while you where in love with Lauren. I stayed in love with you after experiencing the bitter aftermath. I took every ounce of bitterness, hatred, and pain you dished out, and loved you anyway, gods help me. I changed my standards of what I would tolerate, because I loved you. In part I am responsible. You treated me like I was worthless in so many ways, because I told you I was. Every time I quietly accepted your bitterness and anger, I told you that I wasn’t worth being a better man for. I thought you loved me in return, but there were so many mixed messages, I could never know. Yet, you say I don’t see you for who you really are that I give you too much credit for how good you can be. I see you. I see you very well, both the good and the bad. No, it wasn’t all bad, but the good moments were few and all the more precious for it.

It does bother me that you are pursuing a woman who walked away from a 10 year marriage (or least that’s what I was told) with the thought that you can change her into someone who will be faithful to you, while you refuse to pursue me, a woman who won’t walk away from her marriage, despite being in love with you, because I don’t think I am faithful. I worry that this is going to end badly for you and you will, essentially, be where I am now. Broken hearted and in love with a woman who can not or will not change.

I would very much like the answers to these questions. However, I can’t count on getting them. I’m not even sure you know the answers, yourself. I would like to talk these things over with you in person, but you never liked deeply emotional conversations and avoided them with me. I also know you need time process things and think. What I would like is to have a productive conversation with you. It will be emotional and I’m quite sure there will be tears. But I need to know why all the contradictions. Why was I different? Are you so much happier with me gone? Did I make you that unhappy? I suspect the truth is something I don’t wish to hear. That you don’t love me, but enjoy to control over my happiness that I, inevitably, hand over. I do not wish to think of you as that cruel but I can not deny the possibility has occurred.


BTW: Happy Birthday.