the realm of confliction

In one corner: My Best Friend's Wedding
is sizzling across my inherited widescreen tv.
I can't help but to watch even having seen the film
more than twice, at least.
And from the other room: shuffle, from "Edge of Seventeen"
straight into "Real." Appropros, you see, because I've started realizing
I don't know what real is, and by real,
I mean love.
Nearly 3 years in an unstable, unhealthy, unrealistic relationship
does amazingly awful things to your psyche.

I've been told over and over again
to cease all communication, but I unblocked her
and I wrote a three sentence response to a video
she forwarded me earlier this week.
I haven't sacked up the guts
to unfriend on Facebook, but maybe tomorrow.
Or the next day.

I woke up this morning fresh from a dream about her/
us. In it, I'd driven to see her, a surprise, and she had a cake
on her bed, and we made love, no,
we almost fucked,
right on the cake. I took red icing on my finger
and smeared it onto her nipple, my mouth followed
mixing saliva with tenderness and confusion and
red icing. But we stopped, despite her being
spread before me, my mouth already dancing
between her weeping thighs. We stood up
and walked away. And then I found a poster,
a card, in the bottom of her closet, and I kept smacking
the backs of her bare knees, caught between fury
and despair. She told her dad we were back together,
but I was already finding a way to leave. He was happy.
She didn't seem it. I just wanted to go.

When I woke up, I didn't know what the fuck to make of that
except for the reality of it: wanting to go, not knowing how,
hanging on, the obvious connection that always managed to break
itself.
And I had two missed calls this morning, one voicemail
that I later realized was unintentional. Both times she called
she must have known I wouldn't answer, and the voicemail
was long and obviously not meant to be left, as it was choked
with white noise and a cough. I think I just listened
to her falling asleep.

A familiar sound, as I was always awake
when she wasn't.

I don't know why she called.
And there's a good possibility that I don't want to know why she called,
either.
What I do know is this: I keep trying to let go
and I haven't lost my footing yet, but the trail is steep.


In another room, there have been comments
and brief messages, texts and otherwise.
Hardcore nerd flirting, I've been told. I'm a little dense,
though, and I don't know if She realizes that she is,
in fact, and truly finally sort of I think,
flirting.
And how I want that door to creak open.