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I thought I was over A. The little flip-flops my heart is making in my chest at just seeing he was connected on FB tonight beg to differ.
Fuck.
It wasn’t the usual 3-week rule.
It was the “3 weeks without seeing you and I can’t keep my junk in my pants” rule.
I was wrong, but I was right. As much as I love being right, I really wish I’d been wrong this time…
A cheated on me, with Feda’s friend Alice. 12 hours before I got there.
I am not a happy kitteh.
…. or you may make the same mistake I’ve made and confuse a straight, honest and good-willing guy for an egotistic, self-centered and dismissive guy. Woops!
So yeah, I got news. And a “I’d host you with pleasure if there were space here, really… But I’ll find you a place to stay”. And so an invite to stick around for “at least a couple of days”. Not at the house itself, sure, but close, and that’s good enough for me. As I told him, I’m not fussy on where I sleep and what I do, as long as we get to see each other.
Huzzah!
So T made me realize that it’s been 3 weeks since things started with A. And that may explain why I haven’t had news in many days.
Being invited to see the family and friends is nothing, compared to the reliability of the 3-week rule. It means nothing next to knowing that after 3 weeks, most men will leave you there with no goodbye, no nothing.
The 3-week rule strikes again!!!
Sento il peso. Quello dell’assenza. E’ li’, sul cuore. Nella mente. Nei ricordi che mi porto in giro ad ogni istante.
Quando sento una canzone – Stairway to Heaven, Upside down… -, quando vedo una foto, sento un odore, ricordo una serata… Mi viene il suo viso. Il modo che ha di ridere, di abbracciare i suoi amici. Di tenermi vicina e di farmi sentire piccola piccola, ma sempre al sicuro. Di darmi voglia di baciarlo, di tenerlo vicino a me perche’ nessuno me lo rubi, lo tiri lontano da me, lasciandomi sola, senza la sua presenza che mi conforta.
Non mi piace pensare cosi’. Non mi piace sentirmi dipendente. E in realta’, non lo sono. So benissimo che se mai dovesse arrivare qualcun’altro, potrei “guarire” di questa mancanza, del peso di questa sua assenza. Come mi e’ successo tra lui e quello prima, quello prima e quello ancora prima di lui… Pero’ mi piace credere che questa storia ha qualcosa di diverso, che potrebbe svilupparsi in una cosa bella.
Non e’ nient’altro che “tenerezza e marmellata di baci”….
