Gus texted me yesterday. He's about to go on vacation with his family for a week, leaving LA and the other girl behind (at least, I assume she's not going with him).
GUS: Can i call you from [vacation spot]? Next coupla days?
ANGELA: Why?
GUS: ... To talk.
GUS: :)
GUS: If thats okay
ANGELA: 90% of me gives an exuberant yes. 10% of me wonders if talking to you will only remind me of the separation between us and cause me more torment.
GUS: I totally get it.
GUS: Lets call it "play it by ear"
ANGELA: When do you leave?
GUS: Ill be there tomorrow night
GUS: Thru sun
ANGELA: Have a safe journey and a relaxing vacation. :)
GUS: Thanx hun
Then last night, I wrote an email. I started composing it at 2am, fell asleep with my laptop on my lap, and woke up and finished it this morning. And I've been debating whether to send it all day.
Thank you for asking if you could call. Very considerate of you. :)
I would, of course, love nothing more than to talk to you. I'm desperate to talk to you. Please call.
--------------------------------------------------------
But I thought it only fair to tell you my thoughts on the matter.
I would rather put my cards on the table than hide them in my sleeve.
And so, here comes some vulnerable honesty.
--------------------------------------------------------
The hesitation arose in me because my brain is attempting to protect my heart. In talking to you, I'm worried I might become burdened with a terrible affliction called 'hope'.
It turns out, you weren't just a rebound. I've had a couple, and they were surprisingly easy to get over, once I was out of them. (Even if I clung tightly to them in the moment.)
You're different.
--------------------------------------------------------
I'm also trying not to be selfish. Try as I might, I haven't stopped wanting you. And I like to imagine that, on some level, you're not completely over me. (If you are, please don't tell me that; it won't lessen the pain.)
It feels unfair of me to keep talking with you. I'm trying to put myself into the shoes of a girl I've never met. I don't want to prevent you from being there with her 100%. It wouldn't be kind. Not after she's come all the way out here, with her dog, and worked out a job and a sublet, and is acting in your play, and has changed her whole life around to try to be with you.
The honorable thing would be for me to let you change your whole life around to be with her. And I want so desperately to be honorable. Maybe it's best, for you, if I tell you not to talk with me. Maybe it's best that I not only let you go, but that I push you away.
--------------------------------------------------------
But selfishly, I miss you.
I'm sure I'll be fine, eventually. I don't want you to think of me as some pathetic chick, wallowing in her bed, thinking about you all day. That's not where I am. [Literally: I'm in the garden. ;) ]
Most of the time, I'm okay. I've been getting a lot done, actually, mostly to distract myself.
Sometimes when you pop into my head, I think, "We started as friends. We can go back to being friends. I bet we'll be even better of friends because of how close we've become."
Or I think, "This would've run its course eventually. It's so lucky that it ended now, before it became more complicated."
Or I think, "He said he can see himself marrying this girl. This is the way things were supposed to be. Now I get to discover what's in store for me, without wasting more time on a guy who had already met his match."
But then waves of emotion come in unexpectedly.
Like when I want to tell you something, and realize that I've already texted you more than I should have that day, and I need to let it go.
Or when I had to cancel on Kate an hour and a half before the screening of The Way, Way Back, because I'm not quite ready to see a movie with someone else.
Or when the hot bartender (the one I kept joking about to try to make you jealous, which never seemed to work) gave me his number and I couldn't have cared less... I've already lost it, and I don't even care. Because he isn't you.
--------------------------------------------------------
Due to the friendly terms on which we ended things, you might end up being a sort of one-who-got-away for me.
The one I didn't get a fair shot with.
The one I'll always wonder about.
Almost funny, isn't it?
--------------------------------------------------------
In conclusion, I would love for you to call me. I can't tell you how much.
We can keep it light. We can avoid talking about her. Or us. It can be one of our fun, happy, silly conversations. I'd very much enjoy that. It can be the beginning of us being just friends.
But if you decide as a result of this information that it is better not to call, then I understand.
I'll be sad, of course, but I'll understand.
All good things,
~A~
`````````````````````````````````````````````````
I didn't send it. I drafted a second email, which I also haven't sent:
``````````````````````````````````````````````````
There are 750 words in my drafts folder explaining my internal debate regarding whether we should speak. The words are vulnerable, extremely honest, a bit embarrassing, and filled with affection (albeit a bit pained). I've been debating all morning whether to send that email...
The short version: Yes, you may call me from [vacation]. I would love to speak with you.
I'm booked tonight from 6:00pm-6:45pm my time, and 7:30pm-10:30pm. You are welcome to call me before 6:00pm (9:00pm EDT), or during the 45 minutes when I'm on the road between these things (9:45pm-10:30pm EDT), or after I'm done (but I'm guessing after a day of travel, and it being 1:30am EDT, you'll be sleeping by then).
Tomorrow I'm booked after about 6:15pm my time. But if you'd like to call during the day, I should be flexible. Just give me a heads up about when you might call, so that I can schedule my day accordingly.
All good things,
~A~
``````````````````````````````````````````````````
I'm not sure yet what to do. Send the first? The second? Neither? Just a text saying, "Yes, you can call me," and leave it at that?
Why do I over-think everything?
~A~
GUS: Can i call you from [vacation spot]? Next coupla days?
ANGELA: Why?
GUS: ... To talk.
GUS: :)
GUS: If thats okay
ANGELA: 90% of me gives an exuberant yes. 10% of me wonders if talking to you will only remind me of the separation between us and cause me more torment.
GUS: I totally get it.
GUS: Lets call it "play it by ear"
ANGELA: When do you leave?
GUS: Ill be there tomorrow night
GUS: Thru sun
ANGELA: Have a safe journey and a relaxing vacation. :)
GUS: Thanx hun
Then last night, I wrote an email. I started composing it at 2am, fell asleep with my laptop on my lap, and woke up and finished it this morning. And I've been debating whether to send it all day.
Thank you for asking if you could call. Very considerate of you. :)
I would, of course, love nothing more than to talk to you. I'm desperate to talk to you. Please call.
--------------------------------------------------------
But I thought it only fair to tell you my thoughts on the matter.
I would rather put my cards on the table than hide them in my sleeve.
And so, here comes some vulnerable honesty.
--------------------------------------------------------
The hesitation arose in me because my brain is attempting to protect my heart. In talking to you, I'm worried I might become burdened with a terrible affliction called 'hope'.
It turns out, you weren't just a rebound. I've had a couple, and they were surprisingly easy to get over, once I was out of them. (Even if I clung tightly to them in the moment.)
You're different.
--------------------------------------------------------
I'm also trying not to be selfish. Try as I might, I haven't stopped wanting you. And I like to imagine that, on some level, you're not completely over me. (If you are, please don't tell me that; it won't lessen the pain.)
It feels unfair of me to keep talking with you. I'm trying to put myself into the shoes of a girl I've never met. I don't want to prevent you from being there with her 100%. It wouldn't be kind. Not after she's come all the way out here, with her dog, and worked out a job and a sublet, and is acting in your play, and has changed her whole life around to try to be with you.
The honorable thing would be for me to let you change your whole life around to be with her. And I want so desperately to be honorable. Maybe it's best, for you, if I tell you not to talk with me. Maybe it's best that I not only let you go, but that I push you away.
--------------------------------------------------------
But selfishly, I miss you.
I'm sure I'll be fine, eventually. I don't want you to think of me as some pathetic chick, wallowing in her bed, thinking about you all day. That's not where I am. [Literally: I'm in the garden. ;) ]
Most of the time, I'm okay. I've been getting a lot done, actually, mostly to distract myself.
Sometimes when you pop into my head, I think, "We started as friends. We can go back to being friends. I bet we'll be even better of friends because of how close we've become."
Or I think, "This would've run its course eventually. It's so lucky that it ended now, before it became more complicated."
Or I think, "He said he can see himself marrying this girl. This is the way things were supposed to be. Now I get to discover what's in store for me, without wasting more time on a guy who had already met his match."
But then waves of emotion come in unexpectedly.
Like when I want to tell you something, and realize that I've already texted you more than I should have that day, and I need to let it go.
Or when I had to cancel on Kate an hour and a half before the screening of The Way, Way Back, because I'm not quite ready to see a movie with someone else.
Or when the hot bartender (the one I kept joking about to try to make you jealous, which never seemed to work) gave me his number and I couldn't have cared less... I've already lost it, and I don't even care. Because he isn't you.
--------------------------------------------------------
Due to the friendly terms on which we ended things, you might end up being a sort of one-who-got-away for me.
The one I didn't get a fair shot with.
The one I'll always wonder about.
Almost funny, isn't it?
--------------------------------------------------------
In conclusion, I would love for you to call me. I can't tell you how much.
We can keep it light. We can avoid talking about her. Or us. It can be one of our fun, happy, silly conversations. I'd very much enjoy that. It can be the beginning of us being just friends.
But if you decide as a result of this information that it is better not to call, then I understand.
I'll be sad, of course, but I'll understand.
All good things,
~A~
`````````````````````````````````````````````````
I didn't send it. I drafted a second email, which I also haven't sent:
``````````````````````````````````````````````````
There are 750 words in my drafts folder explaining my internal debate regarding whether we should speak. The words are vulnerable, extremely honest, a bit embarrassing, and filled with affection (albeit a bit pained). I've been debating all morning whether to send that email...
The short version: Yes, you may call me from [vacation]. I would love to speak with you.
I'm booked tonight from 6:00pm-6:45pm my time, and 7:30pm-10:30pm. You are welcome to call me before 6:00pm (9:00pm EDT), or during the 45 minutes when I'm on the road between these things (9:45pm-10:30pm EDT), or after I'm done (but I'm guessing after a day of travel, and it being 1:30am EDT, you'll be sleeping by then).
Tomorrow I'm booked after about 6:15pm my time. But if you'd like to call during the day, I should be flexible. Just give me a heads up about when you might call, so that I can schedule my day accordingly.
All good things,
~A~
``````````````````````````````````````````````````
I'm not sure yet what to do. Send the first? The second? Neither? Just a text saying, "Yes, you can call me," and leave it at that?
Why do I over-think everything?
~A~
1 comment:
I say a simple text and let the powers that be decide of you two are able to connect. However you probably know it would be best for you if you don't talk.
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