Things I Wonder Now That You’re Gone
I wonder who will be the next person to see you naked. Who will be the person that gets to put their mouth all over you and see you cum and fall asleep next to you? Will they know that I’ve been there? Are you even able to sense such a thing? I wish I could create a chastity belt for you, so that whenever someone attempts sex, it’ll zap them. I know it sounds like a drastic measure but, hello, your body was mine, dammit! I had ownership over it and I have the receipts to prove it. I could do whatever I wanted to it and now you’re saying it’s no longer mine to have. It’s going to belong to someone else soon and before long, my fingerprints will be erased from it forever.
I wonder if passing the corner of Sunset and Curson — where I lived during the duration of our relationship and still continue to reside — will flood you with memories. I wonder if you’ll start to take Fountain just to avoid the trigger. It’s embarrassing to admit but I have this image of you occasionally driving past my house like a psycho and checking to see if my light is on. (Spoiler: It will ALWAYS be on. I won’t be ready to leave my apartment for another two months.) I wonder this because just yesterday I was walking past Amoeba Records and thought I was going to puke all over the sidewalk. Because I was just inundated with these memories of us going there and then stopping by Jack in the Box across the street for a shake. Realistically, this only happened like eight times but it felt like a big part of our relationship. If I’m getting sidetracked by freaking Amoeba Records, I swear to god, I hope something is stopping you in your tracks. I don’t want to be the only one who’s getting stunned by nostalgia.
I wonder if you’ve changed. I wonder if you still listen to My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless all the time, scaring away your roommates, or if your tastes have changed. I saw you post a video of some weird band I’ve never heard of on Facebook the other day and it felt like a betrayal. Isn’t that pathetic? It hurt me to know that you’re experiencing things without me, even if it’s something as a minor as discovering a new band. Why didn’t you call me first and tell me about it?! Your life is supposed to end the second I’m gone. All of your tastes will remain the same.
I wonder who you’re going to be without me. If you’re ever going to really change, or if you’re going to find someone who is going to fit into your life perfectly. I wonder if you’re going to stop drinking so much, or make up with your father, or if you’re going to grad school, or if you’re going to have a falling out with your best friend, or move far away to start over. I wonder if you’ll have a period of sadness and wish to talk to me about it. I want to be able to say that you can call me anytime, that I will always be here for you no matter what, but that wouldn’t be good for either of us, now would it?
I want to stop wondering now. When can I stop?
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Even as I write this now I am debating whether or not to erase it all together.
When I say I’m in love with you, I mean I love the story I can tell to my next lover, about my ex-lover, about how beautiful things were, how intense, how storybook, what a couple we were, and how you gradually, inexplicably, painfully, bit by bit, disappeared.
“I used to be afraid of failing at something that really mattered to me, but now I’m more afraid of succeeding at things that don’t matter.”
I was 24 and, while not gay, ever since college I had been getting more attention from gay men than from heterosexual women.