When anxiety, vulnerability and insecurity got the better of us

I know my sadness was hard for you.
I know that it made you hurt, and all you wanted to see was me smiling and laughing and perfectly, endlessly happy.

I wished I could open my mouth, and the right words would come out, expressing so very eloquently everything I was feeling.

I don’t know how to just talk, sometimes. And it physically hurts, I open my mouth and my mind just goes blank, and my throat gets a huge lump in it and my mouth gets dry and all I can do is give a little smile, and quietly say “yeah”, or something else equally neutral and inoffensive.

So I practice saying things to people in my head, over and over again, I have conversations and I imagine how I would say something and how they could respond, and then how I would respond and back and forth. And it’s funny, because when I have these conversations in real life, people never quite respond the way I imagine and then I can’t figure out how to do my part, and I end up feeling unsatisfied, because there’s still so many words still inside me that I didn’t share.

I got really good at doing this with you, over the year. I felt like we had two relationships. The real one, and then this one in my head, where we had endless conversations. I would talk so freely and expressively, and you would respond with respect and interest.

I’m got sick of imagined conversations.
Instead I craved the solid certainty of our bodies.
The blunt, hungry negotiation of sex.
The simple communication of touch.

Here’s some words inside me that I tried to say to you and couldn’t (in no particular order).

I love you so much I want to wrap my entire body around yours, and never let go. I want to be with you constantly, I’d love to know you so well I don’t have to wonder or have stupid conversations in my head, because I just know what’s going on for you and we can dispense with awkward, tangled words.

I wonder about you a lot. I want to form a better picture of You in Real Life. I’d like to know how you feel about everything in the world and in your life. I think you’re a very private person and I try hard to respect that. I don’t know if me asking lots of questions would annoy you, or if you trust me enough to tell me more about yourself. I always have wanted to know why people are the way they are, and you are no exception.

I can’t quite grasp how you feel about us, about me, and right now, when I’m searching for something concrete and certain in my life, this is challenging to me. And maybe you don’t know how you feel about us. I have lots of thoughts about us, and actually none of them are concrete or certain, beyond what I know right now, which is that I love you and I feel like I can’t get enough of you.

I dream about curling up on your chest, burying my face deep into you until you block out all the world, feeling your arms around me and your heartbeat and thinking of the ocean, the crashing waves, taste of salt, and hair whipping back from my face, heart open and toes digging down under cold wet sand. And knowing that you know me, that you know me so well I can forget having to explain myself, and I can just sink into your knowing and be loved and safe for a while.

In retrospect, I wonder if you had a similar dry lump in your throat? Or maybe your block was deeper? In the end, neither of us could have the conversations we needed to have. And that was that.