Still There
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Always on the other end of that lens. You know. You're the one I'm looking at. You're the one that I'm focusing on in order to get a good shot.
I guess I don't really focus on the things that I need. Like sleep. It frustrates me to no end that I'm wide awake at 3 in the morning like clockwork, no matter where I am or who I am with. That's why I stopped having sleepovers. Those 3 a.m. wake up times became mini 'thinking' times, and before you know it, I never liked who was lying in my bed.

I came to this realisation that I had to like whomever I slept with. Would I want to be friends with this person? Would I invite him back for coffee or some herby tea if we were buddies? Would I give him a spare key to feed the cat while I was away?

No. So, my bed has been somewhat empty these past few weeks. In a manner of speaking. And then before I knew what had really happened, this man made his way into my life and really, has brightened things up around here. In a completely platonic manner. And I can't get over how nice it is to hear him on the other end of that telephone wire (yes, I'm stuck in the dark ages) talk about things, concepts and ideas, half-hearted theories for future experiments, existential no-no's that most people avoid.

We embrace them. Hug them to ourselves because it feels like the caffiene in the coffee. And I say platonic, because I want to know him for as long as possible before I break it. Because we all know how good I break things. Maybe I'll be extra gentle. Maybe I'll wear kid gloves when I handle the aspects of our relationship. Nurture it in this little pot of compost and see where it can take us. Like the infamous beanstalk.

Now, I sound like a crackpot.

Imagery came to mind tonight when Craig and I were on the telephone tonight. He talked about going to see his grandparent's old house, with a cracked window pane, the same curtains, a chalkboard on Pine Road. He was looking for ghosts. Looking in that green chair, and in the backyard where there is a swingset surrounded by a grassy lawn and a chain-link fence. This house had to be in New Jersey (just kidding, Craig).

He sings little pieces of songs on the telephone, and they are performances that could not be duplicated. A passing moment in time. Gone before I knew it.

I'm just trying to figure out what people mean to me, inside my heart. You know, you keep your distance for a long enough time, it's more comfortable to stay who you think you are, instead of venturing into who you could be. Food for thought. Something that tells me I'll have to let Craig in a little more so he can really know me.

Thing is and I've said this before, once I slow down long enough to let them in, I usually scare the crap out of them. Oh man...a Catch 22. Or is this just what I tell myself because really I'm the one that's scared.

A valuable friend came to me when I least expected it, and I guess I'm a little...too much me, I guess. Just to put the words out of my head feels good.

That and I'm high because the sleeping pill I took made me so, instead of doing it's real job.

Back to the trenches, my beauties.

Labels: Craig, how not to be an idiot, relationships