Personal Stories of an Inkweaver

I saw Red Trainers tonight at my bar, at our bar, at the bar that all the people I know go to.

I hugged him hello and went on my way and I let my friend I was with buy me too many drinks.

I didn’t want to see him. I’ve hardly thought about him lately and even that’s too much. Because we mean nothing to each other. Nothing. Once I saw him though I couldn’t help it. I watched him. Talk with friends and play pool and talk to other women. I went in the bathroom and punched the brick wall and hoped that my knuckles would bruise for black and purple reminders of my own stupidity. 

I talked myself down and told myself it was okay, coincidentally right around the time I lost track of him. Walking to my car though I had a text from him apologizing for not talking more in person because he was bad at small talk. So we made small talk over texting instead because it’s easier somehow. And I almost explained that I hadn’t told him the truth months ago when he asked why I was around again as I lay in his bed for the first time in about three months. I had told him then it was because I had time again to be around and be texting him at ungodly hours of the night. I meant it was because I missed him and us hooking up like we did was the only time I had a chance at having a proper conversation with him. Because we suck at small talk and bars aren’t conducive to conversations. Instead I just told him I missed talking to him. I think he was already asleep. I haven’t gotten a response. I don’t really expect to.

Why would he text me? I needed sleep so badly tonight.

I speak the language of kisses, all their whispers and yells. It’s just like speech, lips communicating with lips, without all the pesky space in between. 

Many people don’t know there’s a language to kissing so they go around babbling away with each contact.

I have learned many peoples secrets this way.

There haven’t been any new boys in my life lately which shouldn’t bother me but it does. I guess because all the same men are still around. Like I’ve gotten bored or something. Like I’m so scared of falling in love I’ve made myself fickle to avoid the problem.

Tonight I was thinking of Red Trainers again. I suspect it’s because I’m at my famy’s house somewhere I was fairly often when we first started talking, but long before we were hooking up, back when I thought maybe we could be something.

I thought also of one of my favorite nights recently though it was a few months ago. I went downtown with a bunch a bunch of boys, all friends and acquaintances, all of whom were particularly fond of me but none of whom were actively seeking my attention. It was a genuinely fun night. Now most of them are in relationships or moved away and I want that night back because I am selfish and want the attention without the commitment.

It’s been awhile since I’ve kissed a new set of lips or any lips at all.

I can’t sleep. Ever. The severity of it comes and goes. Lately it’s been worse.

I watched this movie called Paper Man. It was about a writer who had an imaginary friend because he didn’t connect to people and needed someone to talk to. And other things. It was good.

When I get worse, whatever worse is, whatever I get exactly, I spend more time with my own imaginary friends. I’ve had several over the years. They’re just characters in my head, someone to talk to. Some have come and gone. Some are still around, a few recently added. They all have personalities and different things to say.

They’re just someone to talk to, the sides of me I don’t usually vocalize. Conversations to have late at night. Whne everyone else is sleeping. 

They don’t sleep. 

Neither do I these days.

This evening in the car I was thinking about how it was the weekend and how I couldn’t decide if I wanted to go our tonight or not. I thought about how, several weeks ago, it wouldn’t have been a question. I would have gone out because that was how I always found Red Trainers and assured that I would have someone’s arms to fall in asleep in. We don’t do that any more. 

This evening in the car I started crying because I can’t sleep in his arms, because I can’t sleep, because I never dealt with him calling us off since I wouldn’t admit it meant anything to me however slight, because he was a misogynistic bastard most of the time but there was something there I really liked about him anyway.

I pulled myself together at a red light, wiped my eyes and bit my lip and reminded myself I’ve sworn off falling in love and lied to myself that I was better now.

My friend, the Monk came over last weekend and we watched classic Doctor Who together and fell asleep on an air mattress together holding hands. 

Tonight he’s been drinking and texting me. He asked me at one point if I “slept/cuddled with all the boys who stay over at my place?” 

What was I supposed to tell him? That I rarely let men stay at my house and when I do they stay downstairs and I have a bedroom. That I go to other men’s houses instead. That I love sleeping next to someone but I don’t sleep next to just anyone. I could have told him in recent memory I’ve only slept/cuddled with two men at my place. One was after a date when I fell asleep while watching a movie and the man just went with it since I was already asleep and the other was the Faun who had just been through a break up and it was more for him than me. I enjoyed cuddling with the Monk and I think it would be safe enough to tell him that without leading him on. 

I told him that I didn’t with all men but I did sometimes with men I was comfortable with. I figured that was truthful enough without making me sound bad or cheapening our cuddling together. His answer was that he was just curious and was looking for a bit of an ego boost. So I boosted his ego. I told him he was special, because he is, though everything I said was still true. I sleep better next to someone. 

I swear, I complain about having too many men in my life but I complicate thing for myself as much as men complicate things for me.

And now I need more wine.

Ocean Eyes and I have hardly been talking lately. When we do it’s briefly. And I’m slightly relived though I hate myself for saying it.

People grow when they’re grieving and I had to grow alone through my pain of being without him. He left me alone and I grew beyond us. The me that he loved is still there but there’s more to me now than what he knew. And most of it is defenses and guards and walls. When he was going through the pain of his ex wife leaving him and the growth that caused I was there, I watched him grow so I still knew him when he reached the other side. He wasn’t there to watch me. I’m afraid I’ve grown beyond his reach but I don’t know how to tell him this. I can’t tell him. What he loved of me is still there and I’ll let him have that while he can. Sometimes he notices the new parts and they seem to confuse him. He can’t understand why I’m holding back or why he’s running into walls and I can’t explain it to him.

For a few years now I’ve been slowly losing my religion. In the end I don’t know what makes me feel more alone:

To believe that there is a God out there who is simply ignoring me while meticulously planning out everyone else’s life. Or to believe that there is nothing out there and I am just another piece of the spinning universe who’s orbit has prematurely disintegrated into entropy.

Red Trainers texted me today to say that he’s “been thinking about it and we shouldn’t keep doing what we’re doing.” 

He wants to be “better than most guys.” The ones who just mess around I guess. Too bad. There are others interested in me, much more than he was, but he was my personal favorite. My favorite. That’s all, I won’t admit to anything else.

I’m constantly falling in love. It’s because I pay attention. Keep your eyes open and you’ll find something to love about anyone. So I fall in love constantly and with all the wrong people. All the people no one else is looking at.

And my head scolds me with venomous words but my heart, when it makes a stand, is stubborn. My pacifist heart grows teeth and snarls to keep my brain at bay. Then hides itself away to love in secret, leaving my brain to make a big show of how nothing is wrong.

I’m constantly falling in love but no one ever knows. That is the compromise of my practical brain and my pacifist heart.