Definitely, Maybe

I just ended a four-month relationship today.

Well, it wasn't technically a "relationship", because no titles were exchanged and I cut ties the week I started to feel that I wanted more. But I haven't slept with anyone else since running into her in December. And I have only been on one actual "date" since then, too.

With someone else, I mean.

Tonight I saw a great flick -- "Definitely, Maybe", with Ryan Reynolds. It was a chick flick for guys. Good thing I'm a gay man that likes vagina. And, you know, dislikes sleeping with dudes.

So, yeah, I enjoyed it thoroughly. It made me angry and sad, spawned laughter and tension, and pretty much all around hit me where it hurt. The dad thing, the girl thing, the cheating thing... it was all in there in one big Alfie-emo package. I highly recommend it to all you other sensitive new age guy (gay) vagina-lovers out there. It'll make you cry.

And, of course, it had the happy ending we all knew it would, even as we feigned disbelief in those final moments, even when it seemed like it might follow the troubled road of real life, that the girl would look at the boy and it would feel awkward rather than amazing, bittersweet instead of fairy-talish... Right before she jumped into his arms and they lived happily ever after.

And I looked over at the girl with me, my eyes all swollen with tears I was choking back, and I didn't feel anything towards her. And the "yeah, I don't know what's up with us... still figuring it out" sentiment that I've been noticing for the past month suddenly became, "nope, not so much."

Because you really want to watch a movie like that -- with a girl -- and think to yourself "maybe". If you get a "definitely" in front, that's of course a plus, but that maybe is key. No maybes for Alfie today, I'm afraid.

So. I have to admit that I'm thinking seriously about not dating at all for awhile. There really is not point except for sex, right? And since I haven't had great sex since... Thanksgiving. Sigh. It obviously isn't critical.

Simone was great. Smart, athletic, and... completely unavailable. She never missed me. Which is great if you're just dating to date, or go through the motions, or want slightly-attached sex once every week or so.

But I want more. If it's unattached sex, then it has to be really great sex, goddamn it.

Oh, yeah, and if I'm gonna date a chick "for real", then I want to be appreciated, missed, and wanted. Not needed, mind you -- if she needs me around to feel whole, that's fucked up. But shit. If I'm investing this much time in something, it better be either amazingly fun (you want to do what?) or have potential for meaning.

If it's not either of those, I'd rather be hanging out with the guys or billing. Fun or productive, dammit. That's really all I have the patience for.

--

All of that being said, I wonder if I have an April (movie reference). Presh? Humph. Maybe I should (ahem) tell her. You know, about loving her since that church-sanctioned slow dance when we were sixteen. Or whenever that was.

--

S. said she related to one of the uncool chicks in the flick. She identified with her for choosing work over a man. Her man, who just so happened (in the flick) to have 2 carats in his pocket just as she put him in last place.

Last place. That was my line today. She said that we should hang out. I recall acting surprised. "Why would you think I didn't want to hang out?" she asked.

Oh, nothing in particular. I've just kinda noticed that I'm in last place these days.

"Last place? Oh, well, sorry. I've been busy. Besides, it's not like you called ME back yesterday."

And I didn't. But a guy has to retake his power back, and after being flaked on, I really didn't care what she was doing on Saturday night. I was busy watching the UNC game and drinking beer. Far more productive AND fun. Psssh.

I was mad at her. I was mad because I felt -- feel -- that I deserve better.

--

So the movie started, more or less, with the dude's first love telling him she cheated on him just as he's getting down on one knee. I ran to the restroom during her "explanation". Kinda made me mad. Angry.

Interestingly, I was almost confused when the second girl chose work over him. I remember wondering why he so quickly and categorically axed her from his life. But maybe that's my own insanity coming out... because, really, I made the same call just a few hours ago in real life. I want to be close to the top of the list. I'll play teeter-totter with work, sure, but when it comes right down to it, I deserve to be at the top of a rather short list. I'll even work for it, but it has to be possible. And I don't think it is for S.

I wonder, actually, if it's possible for anyone. Anyone who has been burned, at least. Which is, you know, pretty much everyone old enough to hold a decent conversation. Maybe I should go back to AZ. Heh.

--

So how's this?

Hey there,

I hope this finds you well. It's hard to believe that your visit was six months ago -- it seems so much more recent than that.

I'm not writing just to say hello, I'm afraid. There's something I need to confess.

I've thought of you often over the years -- always fondly, always wondering where you were and how you were doing, hoping you were happy or at least enjoying yourself. There's several songs that remind me of you, in fact, and I remember you every single time I hear them. Someday I'll have to tell you which ones they are.

The things is... (gulp) When you came, I saw that you were happy. I saw you, a woman I barely knew, but whom within there was a girl I adored, and I saw that there was little to hide and much to share. I wish that we'd had more time to catch up.

When I think of you, I wish you happiness more than anything else. It comes before what you're doing. It comes before where you are. And it definitely comes before the "what if" questions that sometimes wander through my head.

Because, you see, those "what ifs" are my confession. I must preface it, of course, with the realization that I hardly know the person you are today, that you hardly know me, that you're a half-world away, that you love someone else, and all the rest of it. This isn't some sort of call to action nor some nostalgia for remnants of younger days.

So here it is. I've never thought of you as "the one that got away" or "damn, we shoulda...". I nevertheless have loved you since we were 16. Or you were 15 and I was 17. Or whatever the heck it was. Since slow-dancing in Delia's living room. Since those one or two times I turned up at Sunday meeting and you were there. Since Capitola with Heidi and Kendra. Since sanding your ceiling 'til 4am and painting clouds n' rainbows. And no, of course I didn't know at the time. How could I have? I didn't realize it, actually, until I saw you last fall. But I did. And I do wonder what might have resulted if either of us had made different decisions.

That's all I have to say about that. I hope you remain happy and healthy wherever you are, enjoying a full and beautiful life. I have no expectations. The mature cynic in me, in fact, thinks it foolish to even bring it up. I suppose I "just wanted you to know".

Disclaimers aside, if you ever find yourself feeling like you don't belong, feeling lost or alone, feeling without a god, country, or home, please, please show up on my doorstep.

--

Pssh. I'm not gonna send that shit. Phuck that.