And it feels wrong, it feels old-fashioned and yet hurtful and yet bad. This jealousy like a cript, like a snake like a ringing bell within. Is this the way things are to be? Plain living lives apart? Plain how was your day, that's great, what a bummer, it'll pass. Four years should mean something more than this feeling of unfair unworthiness. It should be more than this anguish and these images of other women beside you, around a fucking fire in the middle of a God foresaken paradise. Is this what I want? And I can see it: future business dinners to which I will not be invited. Recurring cell phone calls for you, when we are together, of people I might never know. Vague descriptions and comments and last minutes notices that you will be gone for the weekend. More nights like these of confusing tears and guilt. Because that is where it will end. You, coming by tomorrow, sparing a couple of details with me to calm my badly hidden curiosity; and avoiding the so discussed topic: "Get me into your life". "How much longer do I have to be with you to earn some consideration?" "When will you feel ready and socially comfortable?" And if we fail to avoid such discussion, I know exactly where you'll go: My lack of trust, my unjustified judgement of ignored circumstances, my baggage. There comes my guilt, and maybe yours. And maybe... one of those promises that we make and that we can never keep.
I don't have to cope with this. We should be doing better after four years. But what would you know.
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