Ne me quitte pas

I rose early today. It’s the first morning of solitude that I’ve had in seven week after turning my apartment into a hostel it seems. My friend and former ex was my lodge mate for almost two months. I can’t really say that it was a bad experience. We have often that we would bite the bullet and get married if we both were still single at 30. Having share this time in my too small overpriced New York apartment, I don’t think it would be all that bad. We would stay up late nights and talk about everything from Jenifer Hudson (neither of us are fans) to politics to the cute boy behind the deli case at Whole Foods often times over strawberries dipped in sour cream and brown sugar or a bubbling bowl of cheese queso and chips. It was cool. As I looked out into the streets, the overcast sky with the infinite possibility of rain, Nina softly purring Ne me quitte pas and bustle of people scurrying to the train and into taxis the thought of companionship rest heavy on my soul.

Things had been strange. My friend departed and my homie-lover-friend returned from his trip to visit his boyfriend. While he was away, our conversations had been brief but really intense. He told me how much he missed me. I missed him too. There would be moments in the middle of the night where I would want to call. There would be moments where I would run into someone that smelled like him, shared his funny blue/grey eyes or someone that had the same stride of swagger and confidence that accompanies each of his steps. Damn. Pride. Respect. Fear. All held me hostage unable to dial those ten digits.

I went of a little date of sorts on Saturday – cocktails. I followed in up with an invitation to a dinner party on Sunday. I wanted let him know that he fucked me up. That I can’t even begin to imagine my life with someone that doesn’t embodied the qualities that he possesses despite a cute face, fat ass, personality and 401k.

When he got in last night I headed over. Sweats, a t-shirt, a fitted – I was posturing. I wanted him to think that I didn’t care. I should never play poker, because as soon as I saw him the façade melted away. We talked. I didn’t want to ask too many questions. Did you break up with him? I wanted to know, but I was afraid of the answer. He asked me about our relationship and how I defined us to other people. I took the safe route and said friends with possibilities, when in my heart you are my lover, my confidant, advisor, teacher, friend and homeboy. I wanted to lay with him all night. He was nervous. I guess that meant no break-up. I wondered home around 1 – a homeless lover in search of a fix. I wasn’t sure what to feel. I texted the guy from Saturday. He responded with “what you trying to do this late.” My reply was “trying to see you.” It wasn’t truth but I need to purge my pain. What better way than slick skin pressed against each other, warm breath against necks and being inside a place that warm and safe if only for one night. Somewhere between texting and caressing my pillow, I fell asleep. The universe knows what’s right. I checked my phone and his last text asked if I was coming by or not. I responded with an apology this morning – I didn’t want to complicate his life with my shit.

The homie-lover-friend phone this morning to see if I was ok. I told him I needed companionship. He thought he was providing it for me. He is. But at the end of the day I go home alone. I don’t want that. Nor do I want to be a wet memory in between the sheets. I’m going to leave the office early today. We’re going to catch a movie. Maybe I’ll make dinner. Is this situation better than being with someone like the guy on Saturday? Who know anymore?

It’s starting to rain. I want to go out into it and let it wash me like a baptismal spray - washing away the insecurities and the unsure-ness that surround all of this. I don’t want him to leave, but I want all of him.

Damn that Nina Simone.