You say you like to hear what I feel, but maybe it is wrong to say what I feel. Especially while you continue the life you have delicately built elsewhere, while your hands and heart are so very busy elsewhere.
You were patient with me, but I do not have so much patience. Maybe from distance, maybe from time, a sense of urgency persists. It is torture for myself, to feel such urgency to be with you when there are no tools except absolute decimation of my current trajectory, to offer relief. Even then, the outcome is variable. But for what am I asking?
My dreams are much closer to delusions; I rely on them for sanity. Without them I have no hope. My sense of reality is skewed by intense desire because I want something that is no longer offered, something currently impossible. My morals and behavior do not align, and the cognitive dissonance manifests itself in obsessive thought patterns and insomnia. It feels like I am living here, and also like I am absolutely not. Speaking to you, hearing you, brings me a worrisome amount of joy. It also solidifies and validates the false reality that exists inside my head.
I forget you are not mine because of how badly I want it to be true. When I remember, I always trip on regret. I choke and gasp on frustration, despair, and especially jealousy. I will now, out of necessity, try to pause on numbness, silence: silencing my words to quiet my mind. (Dissociation can be powerfully helpful if used correctly. Too often I cannot feel deeply and function properly, simultaneously).
Maybe then I will more easily remember that there is a current reality in which you actually exist, one where you are happy and already in love. One that is extremely different from my delusional, hopelessly romantic, future-oriented false reality in which you also exist.
I’m angry with myself today: hope is dangerous.