An Unofficial Guide To Living a Happy, Worry Free + Fulfilling Life

March 20: Loving But Not Living

One of the constant thoughts that plague my mind (or even indulge it a little) is that of my past relationships/crushes/love.

I have quite a strong recollection of each of the boys whom I have felt something for, and even years on, this recollection and these fond thoughts and feelings are lingering in full force.

I do find enjoyment in flipping through the assorted memories, highlights and "Top 5" moments of each relationship. In fact, I find it so easy to lose myself in all the wonderment of the past that I also lose myself in the present moment. And even moreso, I find myself inadvertently forgetting about any negative moments with these boys. All the memories are lust-laced or only reminiscent of the funniest of times.

There's the one boy, though, that gets me every time. And as much as I wonder about what he's doing or feeling or if he's cried recently and how his voice sounds and how sexy his forearms are, I also wonder when will be the last time I am able to dredge up those feelings. When will I stop having that teeny soft spot for him? When does everything change and all of the past boys and associated feelings and moments just go out the window?

Do they ever?

Looking back on the beginning of our interaction, just seven sweet years ago, I see some major changes in you. I'm just not sure I see too many in myself, and that is my downfall. Not growing with you. Just growing apart. Staying the same.

I'm actually so desperate for something more from you that if anyone were to look at my Google history, they would be greeted by variants of "telepathic love" and "how to make someone think of you." Yeah...

I'm not good when it comes to late nights + internet + images of you imprinted in my subconscious. Dreamt of you just last night, too.

You're everywhere and nowhere. I don't even know where to find you.

And like it always has, my thoughts of you have lead me to desires of you. Just the simplest form of touch. I would love to hold your hand again. The way you would massage my knuckles and knock my double-jointed thumb out of line as you used varying pressure to trace the indentations of my palm and fingers, and your short-clipped fingernails would still dig in. I especially love how your hand size towered mine and yet when our fingers interlocked it was as if a jigsaw had found its final piece. It fit perfectly. The balanced combination of a five-to-three ratio, bigger-to-smaller, you-to-me, male knuckle-to-femme knuckle. I miss that so much. Just the most basic, interesting touch. Being able to trace your thumb bone to where it meets palm, all the way to the fine hairs on the back of your hand and up to your strong wrist. To explore the most banal of body parts in such a way that it became just as satisfying as a hug or a kiss on the cheek. Even more satisfying that seeing your coy smile.

So many untapped feelings are probably doing me more harm than good. Entertaining these feelings is a whole other game. Not one I'm qualified to play by any means. But is anyone, really?

And here, to compound these feelings further, is the onset of PMS. That shit messes the delicate balance of love and memory and hope right up. In fact, I've not felt like myself for the past two days, which in my books feels like I've been clinging to thoughts of you to compensate. Because this feeling of such desperate dissociation can only be most closely related to the tumultuous feelings we shared.

Eek. I just got that jitter that I used to have whenever you'd send me a text. The complete wonder at just what it might say. Only seeing your name and feeling the vibration made my heart go a bit crazy, never too sure if the message would hold positive or negative vibes but always astonished that you'd thought of me.

I think it's safe to assume you will take the longest time. My wounds and memories try to heal, but it's me who's opening them again. Maybe that's why you're not dead to me.

I'm stuck in the past with you, unsure of how to live without you, and positively sure that I don't want to.