every time we say goodbye...
April 04, 2004 � 1:03 a.m.

First Entry Today

Today�s Weather: Reflective

I have been thinking about something�

something that has been bothering me and rolling �round and �round in my head all day�

why was he calling me?

I�ve been thinking about that last morning together, the freaked out look he had on his face as he hastily pulled his clothes on and basically called me a liar for confessing that I loved him. He could barely look at me, you know? Glancing from the side of his eyes and jerking his head this way and that as he spit out his rebuttals to my admissions while searching for something�anything to grab his attention and to focus on as I hissed how he was a coward and I wasn�t a liar�that I have always felt that way for him. He stood still long enough to listen to me holler that I loved him and he couldn�t change it. He stood from his lofty height, looking down at me with hooded eyes and his mouth in a frightened snarl�and I watched his lips twitch and saw the doubt and disbelief flash across his face as I spat that I knew he was going to leave me and never come back. That I know he doesn�t give a shit about me. He stood there painfully silent as I drunkenly propped myself up on my elbow and leaned to whisper I knew it was over and I meant nothing to him, but I loved him anyway. He pulled his head back and glared at me disdainfully as I told I know he could never love someone like me. When I was done, he stood there a moment just looking down at me�his mouth opening and then shutting so he could grit his teeth, and my stomach lurched as I looked at him triumphantly, knowing he was stunted by my brutal honesty. He turned on his heel and spurted out that I didn�t know �nothing� and slammed out of my room. My smile then faded. I turned and sobbed into my pillow as I heard the front door slam.

And that�as they say�was that.

Then the phone calls started.

As much as I hoped it was him, I never allowed myself to believe it�thinking that I was just being hopeful again. But as it turns out, it was him�it had to be him�because after I called him in my drunken stupor, the calls stopped.

So I wonder�why was he calling me?

Was he checking to see if maybe someone else was there? Was he hoping that I would answer at 4am, with a sleepy discombobulated voice so he would know that I was alone? Was he calling to tell me something and then chickening out when he would hear my voice? Was he sorry he left? Is he too afraid to speak to me?

Is it possible�that he loves me, too?

All damn day I have been thinking about it�flipping it everyway that I can to try to understand his motives for it, and I come up empty. Truth is, I don�t know why he was calling. Truth is, I don�t really care. I am astounded that he bothered to call at all�flattered that he was somewhere out there thinking about me so much that he felt compelled to call.

Truth is, I don�t want to know the real reason why he was calling me.

My imagination is giving me reason enough.

I got under his skin.

And that was all I ever dreamed of accomplishing�more than I ever dared to hope for.

I got to him as much as he got to me.

Now maybe�I can begin to move on.

Maybe me loving him can just be enough.

Maybe.