Moving on together

He has a girlfriend now, I just learned, one he must have met in his close Asian circles. I could tell by her smile and composure that the girl is the safe type, but still, of the gossamer-and-steel material that girlfriends are spun.

I realize that I am either steel or gossamer, and a successful meshing only happens when I feel the man is drifting away. So the spinning, then, is upon the push of an emergency button. I chuckle at the thought of, as he said, and as a good number of them said, “how interestingly unmanageable” I could get.

Somehow I am happy that he has gotten himself a girlfriend he deserves, he with the manager’s hands. But if Eve has to speak up, let me say that I feel lonely and overcome. Not because he is no longer sharing dreams with me. By our personalities and priorities and attraction, I have long resolved that we won’t be good together.

We are two slightly similar, good puzzle pieces that don’t have enough grooves to accommodate each other. I have moved on far, that the most I could imagine myself sharing with him is a cordial high-five.

I feel lonely then, and stupid and selfish and inconsiderate because I still held on to the assurance that we were going to move on at the same pace. How could I ever think that this was possible? He’s a hunter who declares his intention. I, on the other hand, agonizingly wait to be pried open, and that’s where Eve fails me.

Ohwell, this is a lesson in selfishness. Let him have his moment. Meanwhile, let me console myself with a work-related fundraising gala tomorrow, a wine appreciation event with poker friends, dinner with a soul-food-mate, Spanish films with a buddy, dvd marathons in Tan Tiu's new couch, and a hopefully, a chockfull of surprises from some friend.

But really now, I know by tomorrow, I won't be as dark as this. It must be that time of the month, or I just miss home so much.