Animals

I crossed the line again today, but this time not with him.  I woke up to find he'd posted a beautiful drawing of another man in his bed.  This is the worst form of cruelty.  He must have known I would see it.  He is deliberately being callous.  I will take it.  It means there's something there, even if it's channeled into hurting me.  I didn't think I could hurt anymore than I did.  That image terrorized me all day.  It is burned into my retinas.

I want to reach out to him.  I want to tell him I will take the pain.  I will take the cruelty.  Not because I deserve it, but because he is my Buttercup and my only desire is to say, "as you wish."  Instead, I reached out to the person who was the subject of the portrait.  This man was very kind about it but I know I shouldn't have done it.  I simply asked him to give my love a hug for me anonymously, to take care of him, and to treat him right.  I also unloaded about how I felt.  It was a violation, I know.

I don't believe any of my friends believe in the kind of love I am talking about, and I don't believe any of them want to hear any more about it.  I have to stop talking in order to stop talking about it.  I have to stop thinking in order to stop thinking about it.  I have to stop breathing to avoid the smell of his clean, pure scent.  I'm wishing for the one I love.

My insurance came through today, so I made an appointment to see a therapist.  That will be on Friday.  I will feel relieved to know that they are being paid to listen to my sobs and utter heartbreak.  I'm scared, but not of AIDS.  I'm scared he will not realize, until it's too late, what a blessing I've been to him and what a blessing I still could be. 

He said to me, "I feel like I'm the only person in Manhattan who doesn't have it."  If I hated him I would wish he gets it, just so he can finally see what I'm going through and how wrong this betrayal is.  I don't hate him.  I love him.  I forgive him.  I know I will always love him.  It has been two days since I spoke to him, heard the aural ambrosia that is his sweet voice.  He was cruel then, too.  He can be very cruel and he knows exactly what to say to me.  I cried all morning.  Again.

A black man with no shirt came by the sidewalk tables at the cafe where I work.  Apropos of nothing he started SCREAMING at two female customers about how white people treat him like an animal because he's black, how he hates this country, how he's not an animal.  He was an animal.  We're all animals.  I'm not sure when he decided to take his dick out, but it was before I told him he was treating these strangers like animals, that he was an animal, but not because he's black.  He should really just go home.  After I intervened he started screaming about how I'm just a homo and a faggot, blissfully unaware of his hypocrisy.

I have a rash and a fever.  I have meetings in the morning.  I can't get to sleep.  As I was closing, a fire door slammed shut, separating the two rooms of the cafe.  I tried every key, at least a hundred, and none worked.  I couldn't reach my boss.  The kitchen worker was furious.  It really complicated our closing routine and I ended up staying an hour late.  I couldn't apologize or explain it was an accident.  Doors keep slamming shut on me.