Author: Kelly

Mars,
I’d like to know what’s going on with the photographs of mine that you have. We didn’t really cover that the other night (if we did, I forgot). Will you be sorting them and just sending me what are mine and what you think I want, or will I be arranging to pick up the pile and sort thru them on my time, then return the remainder to you?

I ask this because we left it open ended, as we did meeting up again, and I need to make both issues closed. I thought I would hate seeing you the other night, and I did. In part, because some of me loved it so much. It wasn’t bad, it was bearable and in a lot of ways pleasent. But the aftermath of Monday night is still wreaking havoc with me.

I’ve done well these last few months, I’ll admit. But I’ve not done as well as you have; it hurt to hear about how happy you are, with your active social life, your half dozen lovers, your bliss. It hurt to hear how quickly you adjusted to this new life and lack of me. And it hurt to realize how much I still love you.

You mentioned wanting to be friends. When my friends hear this, they ask me what I want. The answer is very simple, really – and impossible to have granted. I want my lover, my husband, my marriage. Yes, still. And yes, I know that’s not possible. And I also know it’s not possible to be friends, either. Maybe it’s the last vestiges of stubbornness, or of needing to hurt you, I don’t know. But I feel that you can’t have your cake and eat it, too. You chose to not rebuild things with me, you knew this would be choosing to not have me in your life, and you chose it. I can’t take that back for you.

We were sitting in Azteca 8 months ago; one of many efforts you made that I didn’t see. You asked me if I loved you, and I was afraid. I was hurting, and afraid you would hurt me. And I didn’t tell you yes, when I should have. Although I wish I could, I can’t take that back, either.

And I can’t be your friend. I want to, I wish I could so that I could still have some of you in my life. But I know it would stab me like a knife, every time I heard you talk of your loves and life and how happy you are without me there. I’ll doubt more and more if you ever loved me, and it will carve me up inside.

I miss you, I miss you terribly. I miss your mind, your laughter, your touch. I miss your vivaciousness, your music, your passion for politics, your inability to make a consistent dinner and the great food you did make. I miss holding your hand at the movies, trying new places to eat. There’s so much I don’t miss, and so much I do.
I want you back in my life, I want to hear your voice more often than every few months. But I can’t handle the pain that comes with only knowing you from arms distance. And the fact that the same pain doesn’t affect you just makes it worse.

You can see by this too long letter and my babbling just what seeing you has done to me. I want to see you again, touch your hand and hug you. Sit across a table and eat and talk. And I’ll keep hurting like this after seeing you, and still wanting to do it yet again. I can’t do this to myself. I hope you understand that.

I wish you nothing but the best, Mars.

All my love,
Kelly

mail sent

Before sleeping last night, I decided to read a few more pages in my book of Useless Sexual Trivia. This lead to the following conversation:

“The average weight of a Chinese man’s testicles, in grams: nineteen.” I paused for a moment for effect. “The average weight of a Dane’s: forty-two.” This, of course, got the desired effect – a lot of laughter. Trying to second guess him, I said “It’s the sausage?”

He blinked and looked at me solemnly for a moment. “No, it’s Viking heritage.”

Simple things have the ability to make me so happy. Take my post-it notes, for example. I just unwrapped these nearly-purple post-it notes, and just the sight of them sitting there, waiting and ready to be written on, makes me bubble. I also have a new pad of legal paper, perfect for note taking, and smaller perfectly purple post-it notes for small note taking on top of it. (I can hear Jenna now. Shush!)

I’ve been tight. I know this because I’m starting to unwind, and oh my god does it hurt like you just wouldn’t believe. Add to that the rather common (but still unpleasent) monthly cramps, and my back and neck are just misery. The worst of it is in my neck and shoulders; on top of that I can feel a nice mouse-knot that formed out of no where yesterday. It’s like a little tennis ball of agony! It actually hurt to type this morning, a feeling I’ve not had for years.

Still, today for the first time since Monday, I’m starting to breathe. To isolate where the problems that have tensed and stressed me are, and to work on untangling them and resolving them.

A few identified areas:
* I feel like I’m in a Reno-situation.
* I don’t do enough outside the house.
* I need to remember to smile.
* I’m torn by conflicting desires.
* I miss Mars.

I’ll write more about each of the five things later, but not right now. Right now I’m back to feeling doubled over, like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. Only this time, it’s accompanied by quiet, wet tears.

Mars, dear Mars,

I told the truth the other night, when I said that talking to you was not as bad as I thought it would be. Not nearly as unpleasent, and tho it hurt, it was bearable. I’m glad to hear your life is going how you have always dreamed it would; I’m sad that those dreams never included me.

In some respects it was comical to talk with you. So many things you said you would never do or be that you are embracing firmly; so many things I told you that you discounted, that you now treat as truth.

I found myself only fleetingly drawn to you. You’ve changed so much, stylistically, and it just wasn’t appealing. Only occasionally did I feel a familiar twinge, as you tilted your head or smiled sadly.

It was bearable. The aftermath was not. I’ve spent the last few days back in a hell of twisted thought and emotion. I’ve struggled with fear, doubt, regret, and mourned. I’ve realized things about you, about myself. I’ve realized that I don’t believe you ever loved me – certainly, you cared. But loved? I don’t know, not anymore. I’ve realized that I still passionately love the person I got to know over successive nights on a greyhound bus four years ago. And I’ve realized that, altho traces of that person still come out when talking to you, you’ve killed him.

You want to be friends. You pleaded for that, again. You want to meet up occasionally over coffee, trade stories, and glow with the knowledge that you did the right thing. I can’t give that to you. I can’t tell you that you did the right thing, I can’t regale you with cheery stories of my life that reassure you that I’m over you, and lift the burdon of the pain you caused me from your shoulders. I am not over you, I will never be over you. I will always love the person I met those dark nights so long ago, and I will always hurt from the pain you caused me.

You cannot toss me aside, no longer love me, and still expect to be friends. You can’t always have what you want – you had to make a choice, me or other, and you chose other. You could have chosen to rebuild things with me, to have me in your life. We could have worked on things, and figured out how to make it all blend, mesh, work. You chose to destroy that, and in doing so you destroyed any bridges we could build between ourselves.

Perhaps I’m being selfish. Maybe I’m trying to hurt you, and deny you something you want. But I cannot be your friend.