Time Passing

I asked, "Why did we stop seeing each other?"
He said, "Are we seeing each other now?"
I did not hold anything he said accountable, while fucking.

It meant nothing.
Before a guy came, he would say whatever he needed to get to the final act.

I trusted nothing.

He suggested that we pick a week, and we'd agree on seeing each other for that week.

I asked, "Which week?"

He said, "How about next week?"

He suggested it after sex was over.

I was wondering how. He was going to be away. Someone was staying at his place.

"How about the boat?" He suggested.

I had not seen him for over three months.

But mentally I still thought of him the only boyfriend I ever had.

It's true. I am the most monogamous person in the world. I spent my first fifteen years loving someone I met when I was 22. He moved away, moved back, lived in North Beach, moved away, this time for good. I couldn't possibly imagine meeting up with him. I would only have one thing and one thing to say to him, "I have always loved you." That would not be a good conversation starter.

So I did nothing. He's on my linkedin.

I sometimes wonder if he still remembered me.

I wanted nothing from him. Except perhaps an acknowledgement of my existence.

Now this guy. This guy who looked middle aged. Who had all of sudden wrinkles on his face. Who was no longer the person I remembered when I was twenty five. But I loved him.

I only ever wanted him. No one else. No one else mattered.

I  also did not feel sad any longer. I didn't know what I wanted from him. I still couldn't predict the future. But I knew that I could never say no to him. It was a self regulated, programmed thing. I stopped picturing a future with him. But I couldn't picture a future without him. He said, "No matter what, we'd still be fucking." That's what he said, and that's what I heard.

I stopped fucking others. I felt that I couldn't do that. I felt a sense of false loyalty. I also did not feel anything beyond that. I was going to be OK without fucking him.

Our sex was awkward in many ways. I felt forced. and uncomfortable. Even kisses felt tentative. I felt that he did not know me any more. And he's trying to find me again. I guess in many ways I still regard him as the person I loved and I felt utterly comfortable in whichever position I was in with him. And when I realized that I was not that attracted to him physically but my body responded to him no matter what he looked, it's a strange thing. I wonder why?

Enough time had passed, and I wish that I could answer my own question, "why do you love him?"

But I don't have an answer. I must just have to stop thinking.

Tomorrow I run. Trail run.