It’s always so awkward at the beginning, writing, that is. I always feel uncertain, even though it hardly matters.
You left for work again today. I especially hated to see you go after having such a peaceful weekend together. The three days never seem long enough, even when we are fighting.
I’ve been wandering through my old sex blogger haunts. It’s sad, because it’s a bit like a ghost town. Many of the “Old Crew” no longer write. Almost all of the blogs I used to visit are dead, left to collect cobwebs, or disappearing entirely. I wonder what became of some of them. I wonder if anyone wonders about me, or us.
I feel like a stranger now, like I don’t belong in this corner of the web anymore. Maybe I don’t.
I do hate to dredge up the past, but in this case, it’s allowing me to piece together a person whom I haven’t seen in a long time. The person I was once, before everything changed, and turned us into people that seem normal at this point, but who are so different from who we used to be.
Four years is a lifetime, on the internet.
Turning over stones can be discouraging. This evening I found an email I wrote to you in 2010, but it may as well have been yesterday. So many of the same troubles. Maybe they will never go away entirely. We will probably never match up just right, but maybe we can get close again.
It’s not all bad. I found some erotic text messages, and quite a few words of love. We used to be quite playful with each other. We still are, but there’s always pain and hurt bubbling so close to the surface. Even the slightest nick sends it hemorrhaging out, broiling and burning.
I miss you. The bed is so empty without you. Even when I am furious with you I still long for the warmth of your body next to me, of you skin against mine, the soft murmur of your breathing in the dark.