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My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.” – Fernando Pessoa

On May 1st, while at the casino with my mom I got a text from a ghost from the past.  This one: https://blessedwithastarontheforehead.com/2017/10/20/determined-and-no-longer-feeling-lost/

We hadn’t spoken in over a year.  Back then, as that post described, I felt it was not smart to continue exchanging messages with him.  Our texting, or should I call it sexting since most of what we talked about would make most people blush, no longer seemed appropriate.

I always enjoyed the texting as it was laced with the possibility of all happening again, but then he was an engaged man.  I could not longer deny that he was an unavailable man.  Reliving the past was no longer a possibility.  I thought we could just text as friends but, when, without missing a beat, he made a sexually flirty comment I asked for a break. I felt offended, used and possibly a little hurt that he had chosen to marry someone else (if I am to be completely transparent).

He obliged and never reached out until now.  For some reason I knew we would speak again and I was actually surprised it took him this long to text.  I was also firm on my resolve to ignore him if he ever reached out again.

That resolve completely disappeared the moment he reached out with the excuse that he thought he had seen me walking down 34th street as he was going by in a cab. I hesitated for half a second, then replied.  Seeing his name on my phone made me happy.  Enough time had gone by that I was no longer hurt.

“I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.” – Kahlil Gibran

I miss him.  We were friends for a long time.  The dating/sex stuff was part of it, but I like to believe that we had a strong connection even outside of that.  We have a history and good memories that we are both fond of.  I don’t think he lied to me.  I think he didn’t volunteer a lot and, honestly, I probably didn’t want to know.   I was telling myself that the girlfriend was not serious.  Sometimes ignorance is bliss.  Until it bites us on the face. Face bites are painful and hard to ignore!

We now have been texting every now and then, and getting very near to the conversations of the past.  I know what he is after.  It is the same thing that attracts me to him.  No, it is not sex.  It is the idea of sex.  It is the excitement and possibilities of sex.  It is the memories of the sex we had before.  He, I am sure, doesn’t want to risk his marriage.  Me, I am sure, I don’t want to carry the karma of messing up a marriage.

He knows exactly how to make me weak in the knees.  Just the idea of him still does it for me.  I know exactly how to push his buttons and make him forget his name and his way home.  He is probably already bored in his marriage and I miss that incredible chemistry we had.  I miss the idea of him.  I miss being intimate with someone, even if it is just in memories.

Then I look in the mirror and staring back at me is fraud, is phony, is hypocrisy.  This is a slippery road.  I am flirting with disaster.  I have been cheated on before.  I know the pain.  I don’t want to cause it on anyone for any reason.  I know we will not be physical with each other but talking about it seems harmful enough, or is it harmless?  When is cheating really cheating? What counts as cheating?

what we could be
if we stopped
carrying the remains
of who we were.” – Tyler Knott Gregson

And here I am writing this in the hopes that you will absolve me and give me permission to make trips down memory lane with this one person.  I want you to tell me that it is okay if sometimes the conversation veer into the past, and into x-rated territory.

I sit here, shameful and blameless, absolving myself and assuming full blame.  It is not easy to ignore his texts.  I don’t want to ignore his texts.  But do I have to?  Why can I explore a playful side without any consequences?

Who am I kidding?  There is a consequence to every action. Even if I want to look the other way.

Here I am again confusing drama with excitement and trying to blur the lines.  If I am intent on making a mistake, shouldn’t I go out and make new ones, and therefore learn new lessons?

I know the answer to all the questions swirling around in my mind.  I have a moral compass that sometimes I wish would just take a day off.

It is just that sometimes getting burn seems like a much better proposition than the mundane nothingness of everyday.

“Oh Sometimes I want a quiet life, other times I want to go a little bit fucking Gatsby.” Atticus

 

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