It was now June, and my birthday had just passed. Ominously absent from writing here, life had been a blur of work projects, each increasingly more intense than the last one. Beyond that, it was all very adult. Paying debt, paying bills, going to conferences, mentoring people, battling through things. My workload had exploded and the bosses had more or less made it clear that getting help for everyone else but me was the priority. I was so busy, I barely spoke.
And sputtering through all that was the Cappo Comedy Writer who I'd officially started ignoring earlier in the month. I'm not sure if it was just him, work, or how life felt like an endurance race to some point of destination that kept shifting farther and farther.
But somewhere a curtain had fallen ever so quietly.
How was it left last? Oh yes. Going organic. It had been that, despite his earnest attempts to make it otherwise. By fall last year, we were both so busy that things began to die down, and I looked on silently, waiting for it to cough to a halt. Instead, the new year had come and each fresh from our family trips, mine to Asia and his to the midwest, we'd come back to LA to resume life as we knew it. It was only the second day of the new year, I was still bright. I always felt more powerful accepting it would never be, so it was a surprise when he rang and wanted to see me. It was difficult to keep the conversation decent, and later obvious we'd deeply missed each other.
But that's what happens right? Distance making the heart grow fonder. His visits became more frequent, our conversations quiet and steady, everything else a bit more impassioned. I'd cook dinner, we'd talk. He'd automatically wash up. There was some kind of tacit acceptance of things being this way, for a while. Yet so much of this was still wrapped in unreality, he had no idea how old I was even, or any of the usual details that anchor us all down. All I wanted to know was an answer to a question that niggled at me for so many years, how did I really feel about him? Was all that three years ago just a dream?
These aren't questions answerable in thought but only in being. In an inexplicable way, we were tied to each other, yet in extremely practical ways, we weren't at all. I never met his friends, nor did he meet mine. The moment where you think, God this is really happening, never came. And I was unwilling to let it play on after it had taken up so much already. I decided to throw everything at it and confessed, things had developed for me I wrote. I hated the thought of not ever speaking to him, or not seeing him so much, it made me want to puke. Yet I felt the situation left me no choice but to do just that, since one can never insist on being loved back.
Yet it was a very simple question, does this thing live or does it die?
One month passed, then another. Then I left. He chased, if you could call it chasing. First with humor, then with nonchalance. Then with earnest confessions of having missed me. Email after email. Message after message. All words. In my effort to keep solidarity with the knowledge this could go no further, I had to take all the beautiful letters, all the sweet, mewing pleas and ignore the lot of it.
But that's the thing with words, they carry so much emotion. When you cut yourself off from sorrow, you just as well cut yourself off from happiness.
Hence, silence. Is the place I've been in all this time. Wondering where the Gods are.