You could have the fullest stomach - eaten the heartiest meal - feel completely satisfied and yet you cannot escape the burn. The burn inside you that Usher sang about. Come on now, don't be ashamed to admit that you know the song and found yourself connecting with the lyrics or singing along pathetically at least once in your life.
I'm twisted cuz one side of me is tellin' me that I need to move on on the other side I wanna break down and cry.
Hmm.. just me? Oh well, fine by me...
The burn has returned - and when I first started writing this entry on NJ Transit this morning, the burn was creeping in now and then. But tonight at 9:50pm from Room 1707 in Midtown Manhattan the burning may just be here to stay. I may need to wallow myself in the burning for an unknown period of time. Or maybe I'll be smart enough to take my hand off the stove.
It's this intense ache, that feels like your insides are going to collapse within you, to close up. It's desert like. Hollow inside - echo, echo, echo... is there anyone in there????
How can you feel so hollow when there is so much inside? How can you feel the burn when you know it can and will get better?
Deep down you know it's best for yourself, but you hate just the thought of her being with someone else...
And that's just it. I cringe, I burn, I abhor the idea of Lucy being in the arms of someone other than me. But why should I get this emotionally invested in someone who, while we have managed to connect deeply - deeper than I have ever connected with anyone in my 30 years - rock my inner core to the extent that it has knocked me flat on my behind. I fell for words on a page and I am the one to blame. Ok, so I fell for more than that - our meeting in New York earlier this month gave me slight hope. Oh hope, you are a bitch.
November 14th Lucy and I are supposed to spend the day together, 'a low key day together, where we can be ourselves...' she wrote to me last week. She went on to say how refreshing that that day sounded and I too was anticipating the day, especially since it would mark the second Sunday I would be living in New York City. There would be so much to explore with Lucy, so much to talk about. I saw us walking quietly side by side, perhaps our hands in our pockets (yes, a deliberate shout out to the lyrical genius Alanis Morrisette), catching slight glances of each other, through our perifial vision - potential blushing (more done by yours truly, because I tend to blush at every thing) - all through the Upper East Side and beyond. Exploring my new home, learning more about this woman I have become utterly fixated on; perhaps I'd reach for her hand or perhaps I would let the day play out.
And now? I fear November 14th. I wonder if I have the ability to stomach a platonic visit from someone I have unraveled my once guarded heart. I saw the warning signs and I kept going full speed ahead. I tried to pull back, but the letters kept coming back with such frequency, such sincerity, such thought...
I am tempted to take a path of silence, but perhaps that might be to suspect. Perhaps instead, I will continue our correspondence, but maintain a level of silence. Erect a wall. Lucy tumbled some of my walls that I erected over long periods of time; and now, it only seems logical to start building them again. I cannot stomach the thought of having my heart ache any deeper than it is presently aching. Then creeps in the thought of stomaching the idea of not having Lucy in my life and that burns like a raging inferno.
