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Here it is only 11:20, and I'm already tired and lying in bed. This week has just has felt crazy busy at work, but I've gotten a lot done. I'm so ready for the weekend though.
So the first love of my life found me Sunday evening as I was perusing one of those nefarious gay personals site (I was just browsing, I swear... right) Anyway, I haven't spoken to or seen him in a couple years. Yet, there it was: an email from him. He was blunt. He wanted to hook up. I guess in the grand scheme of gaydom, hooking up with an ex isn't out of the realm of plausibility. But he's not an ex. He and I have never hooked up. We never even kissed, despite the number of times I'd imagined it my mind so long ago.
We met in Boulder, where he lived. We were both str8, in so much as either of us knew. It was a long distance relationship of sorts. We saw each other only periodically over those few months, and I fell madly, deeply in love with him. It was an amazing, wonderful, powerful feeling that conquered everything including the fear of realizing I was possibly gay. It was an intensity matched only by the earth shattering, stabbing pain that came when he broke my heart when he couldn't deal with it. Without a doubt they were both the greatest and worst experiences of my life. Unfortunately the aftermath and pain lasted much longer than the relationship.
I thought I'd never see him again, until one fateful night in, of all places, the bathroom of a gay club here in L.A. We met for coffee. He told me he'd never ever clicked with anyone like he'd clicked with me. Of course neither had I, but mostly because it's hard to let yourself get that close again. I didn't feel anything when I saw him. It's not that I can say I had no feelings for him — I literally felt nothing. I was just numb. We said we'd keep in touch, but didn't really.
A couple years later, and there he was again in my inbox. We've exchanged a few emails over this week. He wants to see me. I don't know what I want. I think I wanted my ghosts to stay ghosts.
So the first love of my life found me Sunday evening as I was perusing one of those nefarious gay personals site (I was just browsing, I swear... right) Anyway, I haven't spoken to or seen him in a couple years. Yet, there it was: an email from him. He was blunt. He wanted to hook up. I guess in the grand scheme of gaydom, hooking up with an ex isn't out of the realm of plausibility. But he's not an ex. He and I have never hooked up. We never even kissed, despite the number of times I'd imagined it my mind so long ago.
We met in Boulder, where he lived. We were both str8, in so much as either of us knew. It was a long distance relationship of sorts. We saw each other only periodically over those few months, and I fell madly, deeply in love with him. It was an amazing, wonderful, powerful feeling that conquered everything including the fear of realizing I was possibly gay. It was an intensity matched only by the earth shattering, stabbing pain that came when he broke my heart when he couldn't deal with it. Without a doubt they were both the greatest and worst experiences of my life. Unfortunately the aftermath and pain lasted much longer than the relationship.
I thought I'd never see him again, until one fateful night in, of all places, the bathroom of a gay club here in L.A. We met for coffee. He told me he'd never ever clicked with anyone like he'd clicked with me. Of course neither had I, but mostly because it's hard to let yourself get that close again. I didn't feel anything when I saw him. It's not that I can say I had no feelings for him — I literally felt nothing. I was just numb. We said we'd keep in touch, but didn't really.
A couple years later, and there he was again in my inbox. We've exchanged a few emails over this week. He wants to see me. I don't know what I want. I think I wanted my ghosts to stay ghosts.
