She stood in arrogance: tall and slender but her hair in a messy pile on her head and headphones dangling from her ears. Her phone was held out at an angle from her body, almost daring someone to look at the screen as she held it out before her.
She showed no concern that the whole platform could hear her one sided conversation; rather she seemed to delight in sharing the drama of her life as she loudly professed her opinions, criticised an unknown subject and swore repeatedly. At one point she mentioned being a mother to six children and I was surprised: to me she looked barely in her twenties. However, I had only glanced at her and noticed her bad skin and aggressive stance, intrigued as she had openly complained about the person who though she should have her children taken from her.
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The coat barely covered the pair of them but it didn’t matter. They sat, shoulder to shoulder, head to head, eyes closed. They looked content, at ease. Occasionally, one of them would open a sleepy eye for a moment, disturbed by a noise on the train: first him, then her. In their statue-like state, neither one would know that the other was awake, that moments before the other had also opened their eyes. I imagined that they weren’t married, probably had been together for a couple of years and then I tutted at myself. Just because my marriage hadn’t been like, doesn’t mean there’s wasn’t. One thing was for sure, they were very different to the older couple sat behind me, more concerned with the filling in their sandwiches or noisily eating crisps, than each other.
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Her voice was high-pitched and a little shrill but not in an unpleasant way. She peered through her glasses, underneath the strands of grey hair that framed her face, the rest of her hair piled up on top of her head in a neat bun. Small and frail, she had endeared a nearby passenger who helped her disembark, carrying her luggage and wishing her well on her journey. As I stepped off the train after her, I noticed that she wore two pairs of trousers, the top pair calf length and allowing the thicker warmer pair to peep through at her ankles. I contemplated the independence of an old lady who was off on a journey in her 80’s, seemingly alone and frail.
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And so my train journey today was spent people watching and thinking. So many different characters, embarking on a journey, embroiled in their own drama. I was going on a course for work: my drama was internal and raging in my head.
I now feel much calmer. It has taken a hot shower and a cup of tea to achieve this.
I came home in a state of nervous anticipation, my mind and heart racing, adrenaline coursing through me and nausea building in my stomach.
Mumslovelife’s comments on my post yesterday have really hit home. She is absolutely right (I could picture us sitting in a cafe together having this conversation if she lived closer, me nervously sipping coffee as she counselled me as good friends do). This on going situation with Lost Soul is not healthy for me. It has gone on far, far too long and I can’t go on like this. Everytime I think I’m finally getting over him, learning to live without him, he appears back in my life and reawakens the feelings I’ve fought so hard to subdue. I know I have never been truly honest with him out of fear of rejection or fear of scaring him away. The truth is, over the years, this has happened anyway. For two people who claim to feel such an infinity and connection with each other, we’ve done a great job of ripping this friendship apart. We’ve gone months of staying away from one another. You’d think when we were both in other relationships we would be confident in the solid boundaries of just-friendship that would have induced but instead we have stayed away.
I know, once and for all, I need to tell him the truth. (I’m feeling anxious again just thinking about it).
I need to tell him that I just want to be with him. What I feel is too complex to label – I just want to be with him. Whatever happens in the future, no matter how long or short this thing might be, I know my heart will always yearn for him until we’ve tried and succeeded or failed. I want to give him my heart, fully aware that at some point he may give it back. I just don’t want to regret never offering it to him.
He tells me he has changed, he has grown up. He tells me that he is attracted to me and that I understand him like no other. He often reminisces about the fun we have had in the past and compliments me regularly. This should not be as scary as it is. Perhaps if I felt less it wouldn’t be.
I feel excited, nervous and scared.
I know from past history that after a night of emotional and physical closeness, he often disappears (another way Mumslovelife was correct). This can be physically – I don’t see him for a while – or emotionally, he will pull away and start talking of a new girl he is interested in or even an old one he claims to still want. It’s often overdone and obvious. I can see how this is a way of protecting himself after he has shown his vulnerability to me, particularly when I have then refused him the physical intimacy he has asked for. Maybe the fact that he is often very inebriated when he asks for this, but admits that he wanted me much earlier in the evening, shows how little confidence he actually has around me. I know he does not have this lack of confidence with other girls whom I know he feels little for.
To combat this usual disappearance and to have this long overdue conversation, I need to facilitate another night with him. Which means I need to ask him to be with me. Without the others.
Tomorrow night is ideal: my kids are with their dad and I have no plans. It also will limit the torture of this nervous anticipation. I need to get this done. But its making me feel sick. I don’t want him to say no at just seeing me – that would be even more hard hitting than him rejecting my heart somehow. I’m not sure why. Perhaps rejecting me without even knowing the truth? It won’t matter if he says he has other plans or just that he doesn’t want to – it will feel the same. By trying to initiate this, am I just making it seem bigger than it is? Am I not better waiting for another opportunity to say all I feel and want? Part of me just kind of wants this feeling over with once and for all. The strong desire to be with him in conflict with the absolute fear of heartbreak is crippling me. I undstend myself better than ever now – this is why I have partially hidden my feelings from him for so long. It’s easier to live in ‘what if’ land and that’s not easy at all. I’ve hoped for years that he would be the strong one: one day he would make the move but he hasn’t. Or maybe he has in his own way but I haven’t realised. I don’t know. Could be that he has been waiting for me too. Or maybe he knows that we can never be together for whatever reason. I just need to know, don’t I?
So, at 7.50pm on a Friday night, I’m sat here trying to be brave and make myself text him. I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow.
Starting from the Middle 