I had had too much to drink. I attended a swanky St. Patrick’s Day party at Cipriani and the quality champagne was flowing and the Irish men were so charming and I let one of them walk me to a cab and kiss me goodnight. I should’ve just gone home and let the lovely memories of the evening and the champagne bubbles carry me to sleep.
But I didn’t. I texted the LDC. He wrote back immediately and when I asked what he was doing he said he was at a basketball game. It was nothing out of the ordinary. But when I said, “I should stop texting before I say something I regret”, he wrote back, “Okay, have a good night.” And because of the champagne and the Irishman and the ache in my bones when I think about the LDC, I lost it. I cried and buried my face in the pillow and woke up with puffy eyes because I want something I just can’t get. And the little moments where I want him to care as much as I care and he doesn’t, to feel burdened by this as much as I am and he isn’t, feel like weights added to one side of the balance I’m always holding.
I feel myself slipping. I’m holding onto this, white-knuckled, fingernails scraping, but I’m losing my grip. I thought I knew the best way to handle it but it turns out my positioning is all wrong and it’s getting tough to keep it steady. All I know is that whatever happens, I can’t let go now.