J and I are trying to untangle an amorphous snarl of hurt feelings, miscommunications, and mismatched expectations related to the relationship (past, present, and future). Yeah… we’re still something.
That something? I’m not sure what to call it. It’s a relationship where we’re broken up without a break up, in a situation where we’re physically separate, but not emotionally separated. We’re not together, but not apart. We’re both single, but not looking* because we’re still in love (but doomed).
What do you call that? A mess? Sure. But it’s the mess we find ourselves in. It’s one we’ve been in, but I’ve been hesitant to talk about because I’m not sure how to talk about it, because there’s so much unresolved, and because it’s probably boring to read about.
Recently, he hit an emotional breaking point because I’ve been distant. I’ve been distant because he’s not handled my feelings well since he left. (How’s that for vague?)
Anyway, I’ve had a recurring dream since he left — not a single dream, but variations on a theme. The details of the dreams that remain constant are that it’s always he and I, alone together, in an otherwise empty space.
In the weeks right after he left…
I dream of fucking him on a couch in a big empty room (in a big empty house). The house is unfamiliar — it isn’t his or mine — and it’s not clear who is moving out, or moving in, or whether we are moving separately or together.
As the months passed…
The dream evolves into one that begins with us in an elevator going down. We are leaving some sort of party (not a loud boisterous celebration, but a dark room filled with sweaty bodies twisting against one another). The elevator doors open into a massive, dimly lit, empty industrial space. We take a few steps into the room before I turn, back him into a wall, and maul him. There is no sex, but lots of hungry kisses and crude groping. When he tries to move away from the wall, I shove him back, wrench his head to get at his mouth, and maul him again.
That dream morphed into…
I find him seated at a huge dining table, set up for a banquet or reception, only in medieval times (I blame binge watching Game of Thrones for that). He is the only one in the room. I pull back his chair, unzip his pants, and pull his cock free. Lifting my skirt, I straddle him, slip his cock inside me and start grinding. Neither one of us speaks, but we both know we have to fuck quickly before anyone else enters the room.
In hindsight, I realize these dreams come in the days following some sort of emotional turmoil or tension between us (happy, hot tension or sad and frustrated stuff). In our most recent tangle, I sent a long, painstakingly written (emotionally draining) letter.
The dream shifted again…
We are outdoors on a massive stone staircase, looking down. It’s unclear what’s below and what’s above — there are concrete steps and nothing more. I stand; he is seated next to my feet. He reaches up, wraps his arms around my waist, and rests his head against my hip.
He asks if I feel him, if I can feel his arms around me, if I can feel his weight against mine.
“Of course,” I tell him… but it’s not true.
I see him there — he is flesh and bone and blood — but I can’t feel him.