4:47 am

It's that time again

That time of night- or is it day?- when my mind is wandering aimlessly

But what if it isn't aimless.

What if she's talking to me because this is the only time she has alone with me.

Others have always managed to make me feel lonely even while I was talking to them, but I don't want her to feel that way - so I'll listen.

Do you love me...? she questions aloud. 

Well... what is love? I've always believed that it is an emotion that both the id and the ego share. That it's so powerful because there are so few things you feel with your entire body and self. It has such magnitude because it's not instinctual-it's purely emotional. But I've never really reacted based off of how my id or ego was feeling. I've only ever lived out the things my superego asked me to do. 

We think back on the times we sat quietly in the pew as the preacher droned on and on. We felt guilty for being there; guilty to my mother and the religion because we were questioning its legitimacy, but, also, guilty to ourselves for not being bold enough to speak up about not wanting to be there. So we kept quiet, as quiet as possible for as long as possible so as not to raise suspicion. Not that anyone even cared to suspect anything. The sat just as quietly in the pew, but always had something to say about what was said after service ended, whereas we were never listening. We wanted to be, but we just couldn't. I couldn't.   

And we also remember the friends we thought we had. The fact that we would go along with what they asked because they asked. It was as simple as that. All they had to do was ask and we'd come running because we liked them, but it took us a while to realize it wasn't reciprocal. Of course, we knew all along (we're intelligent and analytical, so it wasn't that hard to see how prevalent this behavior was among most of the people we called "friends"), but we decided to ignore it and keep running. Our energy was exhausted to the point that we couldn't run anymore. The ones who really didn't care continued not to, but there were some who managed to gain some sense of respect for us as we went along and were angry at the thought that I was finally speaking up. But I don't care. They had taken too much for me to care anymore. 

But she was softer and gentler than me so she was able to feel something. We both felt the hurt and regret from being used, but I was the one who hated that I couldn't make these one-sided relationships work. She tried to comfort me as best she could. I knew she loved me, and I sat there quietly thinking, she asks again do you love me?

The one thing we've had the most trouble with was our sexuality. She knew all along that we were capable of loving any and everybody, but I was scarred. Because the people around me told me that only one expression of one's sexuality was acceptable, I hid more. I tried to be like them, attacking people (knowing that they didn't need it) and refusing to be open to understanding people (knowing that that was all they were asking for) because I was a coward. But, again, she was patient with me. She waited until my mind was open enough to accepting every person that exists and open enough to allow myself to be one of these people. She waited for me to open my eyes enough to see people as just that, people. Most importantly, she waited until my heart was open to allowing others to love me. She helped me realize that someone else's sexuality is of no concern to me, and she helped me realize how courageous being marginalized, and possibly ostracized, can be.  

I think of all of these things.

I guess the answer to her question is... no. I don't love her. I can't, not now.

But I'm trying to.

I'm trying to get to the place where I love her because I know she's always loved me. I feel bad for being one of those people that hasn't reciprocated the love she's given me because she's given so much, but I want to show her that I can, and that I will. 

I will love you...