Ultimately what do I want? I want connections. Emotional connections. I want attachment. In all, I don\’t want to be alone.
I am over-analytical. Trying to determine how those webs—why those webs reach out to me, touching me, making me want to send me own silky threads to others. In hopes of connections. And I wonder why. I really do wonder why others send those sticky threads to me—why me, why me in my awkwardness, bishy ways. Why do I deserve them?
Yesterday, he asked me suddenly upon return of putting something in the dryer, \”Can you trust your emotions?\”
Standing in the kitchen, I hesitated for a second—feeling like there was a message underneath it. What was he implying? Was I misinterpreting it.
\”The Filipino girl,\” he added as if to clarify his question.
But I just let my thoughts flow, not really thinking—\”Sometimes they change. They are not the same. You may not feel the same way about someone a few years from now.\”
Emotions are fleeting. I remember thinking this way about certain people: Justin, Andy, Ben, Chris C. I felt nothing except anxiety for the guilt of the pain that I must have caused. And the longing—it wasn\’t to be with them, but it was for the connection that we shared.
Why do we choose the people the way we do? Why do we choose the companion that we are with for the rest of our lives? This morning, I woke up with guilt, indecision…and I thought about everything, ultimately with tears dripping down my face. Why…why…an emotional affair yes. My friends—why do I choose them. Is it some unspoken connection—that draws me to them and vice versa? I am usually the one pushing and pulling. And I am always surprised when someone else does the heavy lifting.
I once dreamed that my ideal world would be surrounded by the people that I loved being around. I would choose to be with my closest friends than the single true love. But nowadays, I say, \”I used to think that.\” And suddenly I am back.
I hold people close until they wriggle out of my intense grip. Then do they stay or do they leave?
There\’s a part of me that knows that the intensity with him will die—I will learn all there is about him and then there\’s nothing left. Maybe it will just be an empty shell—completely. I will left alone, but satisfied because I felt it all. And there\’s only me now to be comfortable with it. It\’s always about being comfortable.