New year, new issues.
I’m forlorn in the living room, extinguishing Christmas lights. I feel sad for some reason. But why? What the hell can I be sad about? I hung out with my girl for New Years.
Gotta get my act together. Clean lipstick off cups in the sink, check my face for lipstick. Get rid of any long hairs in the bathroom. Put the blue room pillows on the bed with new covers that don’t smell nice.
Something draws me to Sinatra again–one of mom’s favorite songs. I almost played it tonight, but thought better of it. Too mushy?
Then, as slowly and languidly as the tempo, it falls on me like a soul eclipse. Oh my God, am I in fucking love?
I no longer think of her as a pretty girl with a perfect body; now she’s a girl-friend who tells me everything. I am perfectly at ease with her. All our kidding around has hidden our bonding. She knows me and still wants to be with me. And now that she’s gone, all I can do is think of when we’ll be together.
All the talk about being a big man when you have a female conquest must be total bullshit. There’s a growing need in me that never existed. What in the hell is going on???
And I began to cry. Just sob in a heap on the floor. Oh God, is this love? I care about her more than I ever admitted to myself. What is going to happen? It is so fucking scary. I don’t want to lose her. Why am I so miserable?
Am I the biggest wimp in the world? Maybe this is why so many love songs are about pain. I go upstairs, say a prayer and collapse in bed, sharing tears with the pillow.