I realize that since I've been here, I've been nonstop busy doing something around the house, or with friends. That I am a constant flurry of action, whether mobile, about town, or within my own home.
The neverending TTD list. I feel that slight anxiety/suffocating feeling of the pile that I throw upon myself; I forget to take care of myself, to give myself time.
Greek time, nothing time; lulls. Like a vitamin.
It's hard because perhaps I fear that if I get comfortable in my own time, doing nothing, I might not really miss him--that I'll just feel at peace, alone. I miss him most when I am about, watching the fireworks finale at Coney Island, or eating a cupcake from Billy's, or even during a shitty movie.
I just miss the doing things with him. Because we used to share action.
I cannot really miss him nearly as much in my me-time because I do not share that action. It makes sense, right?
Missing him is the closest I can get to his being here with me. It is the playback, the reminder, the ghost that I carry with me--the dream where you will yourself to fall back asleep for so that it can continue and never end.
And then there are some moments when I think I am only feeling what the mold I made for myself is supposed to feel. Self-made schemas. Railroad tracks laid out in preparation lest I forget which emotion is appropriate. I don't know if I really do that.
I fear loss, I fear the dissipation of memories. I do not remember what he smells like, but my hands still feel the line of his jaw, that face close to me. I don't want to lose what little I have, each day.
Should I not cling? I fear the letting loose of my body to do its will, whichever way it flings. I'm not sure I trust it--but I should, since it steers the direction every time.
The vector of myself, with my thoughts and impulses pushing back; the friction of my body braking, moving, shuddering in place. The energy expended, expired, & lost.
Palm me, hold me please.
