So I did my break-off ritual with The Song Sender:
texted a (nice, I hope) goodbye, explained I was only blocking him to mitigate
pining. Broke the connection on Instagram, wondered how long it would be til I
could go back to my favorite movie theater.
But then I was like, why? I knew that he, like
everyone, but moreso, was irreplaceable. I didn’t want to wait another eleven
years for fate to intervene. I wondered why I hadn’t even tried talking to him
about it, once the fight-or-flight wore off. We’d been so amazing at bad kink way
back when, why just skip over TRYING to add better communication to the
hotness?
Yes, stop sign street art, I know.
And he said okay. It didn’t take much talking-things-though
until I felt secure again, until I asked his permission to reactivate slutty
mode. We still need to make a good aftercare plan—there may be a checklist.
Maybe next week.
Okay so I've sent the Song Sender TWO poems. He seems fine with it.
This humbling myself, the asking The Song Sender for
what I wanted and letting go of my pride and defensiveness enough to give the
connection a chance, it felt new. The not-fleeing felt new. We haven’t seen
each other in person since things went haywire, but phone things have been
lovely. Romantic in their smuttiness. I’m making him a playlist that’s gen-X
dreamy as fuck.
So then, the dinner with The Shy One came around last
week. I wore a modest not-sure-if-this-is-a-date-or-not dress, apparently a
whole genre of clothing I need to have.
The Shy One, meeting me at a restaurant on his side of
town, was somehow even more beautiful than before. The humility came easily to
me this time, without the bitter edges I’m so used to having. I just wanted to
give him whatever he would have of me. I would have sat at his feet if we weren’t
in a restaurant and if he were a more PDA kind of guy.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” I said. I’ll
figure. it. out.”
He reached his hand across the table and said “Whenever
you want me to come over, just call me and I’ll come over. Like I can come over
this Friday if you want.”
(Eeeee!)
“Okay, but I still super love you.” I said. “That hasn’t
gotten any less. You’ll just have to deal with it.”
So that’s what I’m submitting to: kindness, curiosity,
love. I want to submit to the most generous parts of myself and hush the rest.
It feels tenuous to try keeping my defenses down, but I also feel deeply helped,
like I’m tapped into something much bigger and more reliable than myself. Love.
The Universe. Fate. Definitely something kaiju-sized and divine.
