Our relationship started with a, on my behalf, concious effort to not put irrelevant ambitions and intentions into it. But the feelings involved and the ‘here and now’ drew us a lot closer alot faster than I could manage. And I enjoyed every second of it, breathed deeply that air of unambitious trust. But then she stopped it – very formally and in a diplomatic tone so as to describe every argument in a sensible way. I did not know how to respond, I couldn’t. So the instant reaction was empathy, and the distance from my own feelings within that empathy. Which makes me wonder if it was empathy at all.

But it hurt then and it still fucking hurts. As I realised tonight. It was a random encounter and I was thrilled to see her and talk to her, but bummed out completely when she up and left. More precisely when the it dawned on me that her leaving most likely had nothing to do with me – but then neither would her staying there have been for me. This realisation had a hefty impact on me, and the memories of her rejection came rushing into my head. This isn’t a complicated matter but I’m not fond of how the situation feels so constricted and whatever I do or don’t do doesn’t make a damned difference. Perhaps this latent drive to ‘fix’ those relationships that go askew is just fuel to the fire.

Enough of this.

Presenting another ‘her’.

I had it all planned and thought out. All the disadvantages of not acting on it, all that could go so horribly wrong if I didn’t tell her. It came out in a fuzzy and ill timed manner. But out it came. The right words were said and I had it covered. I described to her my problems with being in a relationship and that it actually had nothing to do with her or my feelings towards her. In the clarity of the aftermath I should probably have elaborated more on these. But she took it well, despite my fear that she would feel rejected and the drama that would ensue. It felt good to ‘come clean’ with her. And that following lightness in my head and heart held on. Until I realised the decisiveness of our talk.

As one of my friends has so eloquently put it ‘ Tanker bliver til tankespind, det øjeblik hun kommer ind. Jeg tror hun sidder fast. Jeg tror jeg sidder fast’. I’ve come to realise how easilly my resolve on these matters can crumble. After seeing her again the other night and her telling me about her new guy, I know I should’ve told myself that there was another thing to add to the ‘reasons list’. But somehow I couldn’t quite fit the pieces together. The confusion hit more or less simultaneously with the relief of telling her how much she meant to me and vice versa. Why was I so suddenly so drawn into it again? Why this response to her telling me she already found someone new? It feels like I neglected the most important thing in making that descision; how I feel about her. Maybe I just hadn’t acknowledged that simple fact that I’m love with her. I tried to suppress it, out of fear of loosing her and well, all this. I used my head to shield my heart. Simple mechanism. And apparently it failed.  It was my descision, but if I hadn’t taken it would she? What little I know of her tells me that it’s likely. But my heart hasn’t quite been persuaded. Maybe that’s just naive of me? Or cynical? It feels like a pretty thin line right now.

I think there’s a pattern in my reaction to these situations. How I regret the course of action when I realise the feeling that the consequences trigger. The proverbial not knowing what you loose until it’s lost. I tell myself this is better than the shattered heart I would eventually end up with. And so the confusion rears it’s frustrating head and I think to myself; ‘how do you know? ‘

This difference between confidence and assertiveness seems infinitely smaller today.

Two days from now – after two years. A concert of a mutual friend, or whatever their relationship has turned into now. Along with the regret, anger and bitterness that usually follow thoughts of her, came this time also a faint curiousity. Into what, I’m not entirely sure, but it made me follow some paths I haven’t been down for a long time. Paths that I’ve been scared of because of where I knew where they would lead me. Astray. Into naive hopes of reconciliation. However, I feel closer to a sort of true north these days and thus, I went on and eventually emerged on the other side with a clear head. I indeed found hope, but of something else entirely. Luck? Confidence? I’ll admit, I got shaken a bit by all that digging in the past. Vivid memories of how I felt back then and the hopes and fears I had for myself and my then-friends. But I’m here now, writing – cool as strawberry ice cream. Confidence.

For a long time, my only concern about her was to express my bitterness towards her, and ignore the regret and guilt, which I didn’t think she deserved to know of. I’ve wanted to merely close that one inconclusive chapter of my life – and preferably with angry words. Now that particular concern is not so dominant. I’ve tried hard and for a long time to forget all her qualities, all that was good between us. I guess I caught a glimpse of that tonight. Maybe in me, or maybe just there on the screen. But in existence? Very much so.

Emerging from her old writings with a clear head has not made me forget. Anything. I’ve spent alot of time and energy trying to minimize all the joyful memories and retain the hurtful and unhappy ones. They’ve been somewhat simpler to handle - but not easier to carry. The weight of them and of the promise I made to myself remain unchanged. My legs and skin are tougher now.

I’m not hoping to see her but nor do I fear it. We owe each other nothing.

In the dream I was crying. Remorseful about something. The feeling of guilt hung heavilly in atmosphere. He looked at me seriously, with cold eyes. He had taken me out for dinner and a serious father-to-son talk. One of those we’ve never really had. I am completely blank. I have a feeling as to what may have triggered my father being in my dreams again but why I woke up feeling completely shattered inside is something I can’t quite grasp.

Took a slight blast from the past today – as she would have put it. I’m not quite sure what reigned me in but coming here was my next thought. So maybe that’s what it is. My refuge. My little house of clarity.

I suppose the last year of running free and my trying to free myself from the past and who I was – what I felt – has been too incoherent to put into words. Maybe that incoherence was what I sought, so I wouldn’t attach all the emotions and desperations to the idea of myself.  Or maybe I’m just full of it.

Either way, I have changed since my last entry. Not in a dramatic way but in a subtle and, more importantly, perceptional way. I’m less anxious about myself. The millions of thoughts and feelings that I have all run in different directions but I no longer feel like they define who I am. I feel less tied up in myself – in acting out the idea of ‘me’. I no longer see myself as I once did. This is a good thing.

But come on… I mean, on the phone? On the fucking phone.. She called to say that there was nothing more to talk about. That I just needed time – alone. And that she had to go. I could hear the voices of her company in the background. Lively. With friends, I suppose. No time to talk. She just needed to finalize the breakup again, since I had expressed my need to see and talk to her about… well, I didn’t know what exactly. I just wanted to ask her if we could still trust each other, since the question had been on and off my mind since before she broke up. I didn’t get to ask her.

Guess I didn’t have to.

It hurts to feel nothing but indifference coming from her. I meant it when I said those words that morning and I still do. I love her – but she is not the same.  I’m holding hands with a ghost… again.

Something in me tells me that she’s right; it would be torture to be friends, when what I want is more. Or something else. I just want it to be as genuine as I felt it was back then. But how could it ever feel genuine when this is what she chose? She quit. Not just the ‘us’, but also me.

I remember thinking that writing here was a way of escaping it – describing it all to myself as if I hadn’t been present. Instead of trying to do something about it. Acting on it. And now… now I don’t know.

This machine is me. And it needs… something.

Pitstop.

I still find it hard to believe. I catch myself thinking it’s just a really horrible dream. Which makes realising it’s not so much worse. I hate it. I hate it..

The fear really took hold yesterday. I panicked. Having to face a winter like the last one.. is a horrible perspective. I really feel that fear. But my head tells me that this is nothing like last winter and that by making the comparison I’ll lock it down. Instead of keeping it open to a change that might actually… do us good. Both separately and between us. Risk it. Acknowledge the possibilty of failure or face the certainty of a sense of loss by distancing myself?

In the less eloquent and perhaps more primitive part of my brain it comes down to this; face it, or run?

Man, or boy?