When I got to the point where, under normal circumstances, I would have crossed the road to say hi to him, I kept my head lowered, kept on walking, walking on past him. He'd made no move to acknowledge me either: took out his phone, looked at it, his head lowered. We were exposed by the openness of the streets; there was no hiding from each other's gaze, no concealing our discomfort. Our unobstructed view of each other in the clear light of day laid bare my ineptitude, as if undressed by a lover pushing me beyond my comfort zone.
I'd been avoiding him the past two days. As long as this remains unresolved, I don't know what to say to him, and so I don't feel as if I am capable of being normal around him - and so I deal with this by avoiding it. I wasn't prepared to see him yesterday, especially from across the road. Somehow, it would have been a little more civil - I would have been more civil - if he'd been on the same side of the road; say, if he'd been at the Wine Merchant. That would not have required me to put in the extra effort of going over to him; it would have merely required me to smile, say hi, maybe stop for a chat; but I don't know if I would have done even that.
Seeing him like this put me in a rather bad mood for the rest of the evening, prompting me to wear a melancholic look on my face through tennis. When it was almost 2am and I'd finished looking at cushion covers online (but not buying any), I turned off the light, wrapped the duvet tightly around my body for warmth, tried to sleep; but couldn't, because I thought about the precious moments that we experienced over these three months, and I juxtaposed those with my inability to cross the road to say hi to him a few hours ago, and I couldn't help but cry. The night he first kissed me; the afternoon we went punting and the hour we spent in my room, just talking; the night I beat him at Scrabble; the afternoon that he beat me at tennis.
He said that he doesn't want an emotional attachment, but how does one prevent this from forming at all if activities have been done together, moments experienced between two people that joined them in a single reality? Was it unemotional for him when he'd finally kissed me that Saturday night, or when he told me that he liked me a lot, or when he hugged me close to him, tightly, or when he kissed me gently in the middle of the night when he thought that I was asleep? It couldn't have been.
I am paralysed with indecision, the sort that propels me to keep moving past him, away from him; the sort that prevents me from crossing the road and staying on my side as if he weren't just a road crossing away. Am I the author of my own misfortune? Is it on me that I want two things that don't coincide? I want Matt, and I want a relationship of sorts, even if it is short term. Is it rational to want the latter? I feel as if I would lose something no matter what I choose. Is gaining Matt enough to outweigh the loss of an emotional connection - the chance at one - that I might have with someone else? Is it worth it to lose Matt for a mere chance at something deeper with someone else whom I may not even find? Or would the gain in losing him be in the eradication of the reminder of the lack of this something deeper which being with him has (perhaps ironically) accentuated?
If I told him that I want to keep seeing him, but I need a little bit more from him, can I even answer him when he asks what more do I want?
But if I told him that I will keep seeing him on his terms, it won't be long before I finally end it.
Yet, I can't bear to let go, not just yet.
Why does it feel like I will lose no matter what I choose?