when we broke up civilly the first time, it was nearing thanksgiving, and I was dancing in a piece about death. my first real company gigs, he came to the show opening night. he left the flowers in the car, like after six years he was wary of revealing affection, and insulted my performance before I saw them. (I hadn't appeared "present" to him, my timing looked off.) I cancelled aftershow plans, demanding we go home, crying and saying I couldn't live this way anymore. (trying to wring affection from a rock.) we kept our plans for thanksgiving, driving to the family home of friends. I listened to him prattle about heccaities and rhizomes all the way to half moon bay. he had a way of making me feel hollow. he had a way of making me feel like I would never find someone better. already, this is almost three years ago.
I can't tell you how many small times following that we continued to break up and convene again. each time wanting the comfort, thinking his body could be a balm for my fucked heart. I did not know my body apart from his. I did not know my heart without him.
and, well:
things change.
I love that all this could so brilliantly change.