4:32 AM; Logan Blvd—bed
Molly ended our relationship. She can’t balance love and work right now, and I can’t blame her, although I can’t relate to choosing not-love. It’s so painful, this heartbreak. But I’m okay, somehow. Somewhat not okay, somewhat okay. I keep trying out scenarios in my head—she emails back and says she’s made a huge mistake! She comes to my show and we establish a friendship! We become writing buddies and years from now rekindle this love affair! But it’s all painful right now and there’s nothing to do but leave it to fate. I told her I still wanted to know her—left her a voicemail and text—and she claims to still want that, too, so… time. Ugh, time.
In some ways I’m relieved. I’ve been in such unbearable pain, and Molly was a perfect distraction. Now I have no choice (well, I do, still) but to face it and deal with it. It’s like a “let’s get this show on the road” feeling. I’m tired of holding these pillars of pain inside me.
Goddamn! I want to be able to turn my brain off. Stop living in what-ifs. How can I appreciate my existence for what it is? Bury myself in art, I suppose. Read all the bluets.
I’m frustrated because I feel like I’m the only emotionally brave lover I know. How lonely.