Him: So can I ask you one more question?
Me: Sure.
Him: Why are you still so sad?
Me: What?
Him: You said that you broke up with this guy a few years ago…
Me: Right.
Him: Why are you still so sad about it?
Me: I’m not. It was the right thing to do. We were starting to inhibit each others personal growth.
Him: That seems like a broad reason.
Me: There were other reasons.
Him: What?
Me: We hadn’t had sex in over a year.
Him: Ouch.
Me: I knew you’d balk at that one.
Him: I’m a Dirty Old Faggot. Sex is important.
Me: Well we had gotten to the point where sex wasn’t important.
Him: Then I see why you ended it. Do you still think about him a lot?
Me: What? I dunno. Maybe. I guess so…
Him: Haha. So, yes.
Me: I still live in the apartment we shared together for seven years. I feel like I’m living with his ghost sometimes. I find myself talking to him, saying things in this baby-talk couple’s gibberish we used to speak to one another. Sometimes I literally ask him questions, even though he hasn’t lived there for three years.
Him: Like what?
Me: Uh… Lemme think.
(pause)
Me: Well… The other day I was washing my hair in the shower.
Him: Mmm. You in the shower. Good visual.
Me: Gross. Anyway I was washing my hair and my eyes were closed and I guess he popped into my head. Some memory of some previous happy moment – and all the sudden, out loud, I said ‘When you coming home buddy? I’m lonely.’
(pause)
Me: And then I said ‘Oh. Right. You’re never coming back. Ever.’ But that part was quieter. More of a self admonishment… Like, as if to say, stop talking to yourself, stupid.
(pause)
Him: Michael… Can I hug you?
Me: Sure.
(pause)
Me: Get your hand off my ass. And thank you. For the gesture. The hug was creepy but the gesture was nice…
Him: But. But. Hey.
Me: What?
Him: What if he did come back? You wouldn’t want that, right?
Me: No. Yes. I don’t know. We were really miserable toward the end of things, which was heartbreaking because we were so kind to one another for such a long time.
Him: If you think you want him back…
Me: I don’t. I’m not sure there’s a ‘him’ to want back. We’re both so different now. The person I’m speaking to in the shower is literally his ghost.
Him: Oh, Michael.
Me: You know what’s really funny? Is how small everything gets…
Him: What do you mean?
Me: I used to have big fantasies about him. About buying a place together. Maybe owning a small business. Adopting a child. Big fantasies. About the life we would have together.
Him: Okay…
Me: And I still have them. But they keep getting smaller. Like, when we broke up, I would fantasize about me growing and changing and about him turning things around. Maybe he’d clean up his act and so would I…
Him: Go on.
Me: The fantasy gets smaller and smaller.
Him: What does it look like nowadays?
Me: I… uh…
Him: You don’t have to say.
Me: I have a fantasy about him. We’re in the park. And we’re sitting on a bench next to each other. And I’m not even looking at him, because that’s how fragile things have gotten. Even in my fantasy. It’s so fragile that if I look at him and see him, reality might seep back in and destroy everything.
Him: Like that scene in The Hours where the room fills up with water.
Me: Yes! But the exact opposite, because it would be reality destroying the fantasy.
Him: Right. So you’re in the park?
Me: Yes. We’re in the park. Quiet. Sitting next to each other.
Him: And?
Me: And nothing. That’s the fantasy. We watch a little league kid’s soccer game and sit next to each other. And we’re quiet. And it’s peaceful. And perfect. That’s my fantasy about him, now. Just to spend a quiet moment with him in the park.
Him: Michael. May I say something?
Me: Okay.
Him: Maybe you’re not perfect, okay? But you’re not to blame for all of this.
Me: I did break his heart, pretty thoroughly.
Him: Right, but he must’ve had a hand in things.
Me: He certainly did.
Him: And just by saying what you said, just now, you’ve sort of proved that you’re a being that’s capable and deserving of great love. So listen to an Old Faggot, okay?
Me: Okay…
Him: Let that love find you. You deserve it.
(pause)
Him: I have to go masturbate now. Those internet twinks aren’t going to objectify themselves…
Me: Okay. Bye… Oh. Hey.
Him: What?
Me: Thanks, Old Faggot.
Him: You’re welcome…
(pause)
Him: Jerk.
PIEFOLK 
Ouch. Beautiful, but fuck, ouch.
Devastating and inspiring. I read all three parts of this blog series and honestly I expected this one to be the same tone as the last one: overly snarky and self-righteous. But wow! A touching moment and a confirmation that behind casual sex and hook-up sites there is a strong desire for love.
It’s like Park Posey’s two-episode arc on ‘Louie’. Takes you by surprise. I wish I’d written this.
Hugsie!
Let that great love find you… & let it in when the time comes.
Long time lurker, first time commenter. I’ve enjoyed looking at your food pictures, I’ve always loved your writing, and I’m not gonna lie, the peeks of your ass here and there are nice too, but this. I just wanna say that this is probably one of my favorite things you’ve written. Kinda beautiful stuff. Looking forward to reading more.
Long time lurker, first time commenter. I’ve enjoyed looking at your food pictures, I’ve always loved your writing, and I\’m not gonna lie, the peeks of your ass here and there are nice too, but this. I just wanna say that this is probably one of my favorite things you’ve written. Kinda beautiful stuff. Looking forward to reading more.
This was masterfully written and conveyed precisely something we have all felt at some point. I have only a tiny idea of who you are, but this post paints you as a rare wonder. Awesome.
I think the fantasies get smaller because we’re clinging to something more possible, something else that’s grounded in reality. Before, life was full of unknowns and limitless possibilities, but after a few experiences there’s that doubt about what is possible and what is not.