Just, sometimes it really aches

Sometimes I miss my ex achingly. Usually not when I'm with C, but at odd, surprising times. I always check myself - aren't I content?

C asked suddenly in the car one day, "Are you sorry it didn't work out with [him]? Do you wish you could still be with him?"

I did have to muse a moment, but I answered confidently that I'm happier now. I'm thrilled to be with someone who clearly, radiantly, enthusiastically, wants to be with me.

This loss and missing that grabs me by the lungs is hard. I miss so many big and small things - words, and gestures, habits we shared, small sweetnesses; tiny things only we could share, and most of all, the unique, warm atmosphere of his love. He loved me easily, openly, and I knew it and felt it all the time. I know I'm loved now, as well, but only he will ever love me exactly that way, and sometimes I notice that not in my life now.

It's disconcerting to have this light fog of sadness and confusion float through my life as it is now. I feel happy, adored, brighteyed and all kinds of powerful, abundantly successful and capable of anything, in huge percentage due to the man at my side now and what he reflects of me. I am daily humbled by gratitude that he is at my side, and proud of myself for being ready when he showed up, as it were.

I "think", in a logical world, with that kind of joy, there wouldn't be room for missing a flawed relationship that ended. However, I sometimes cry for him, and torture myself looking at things he wrote or gave me, or his picture on facebook.

I dread seeing him, talking to him, because I don't know what will happen. Will I feel finality, shift? Oh, that was a nice piece of my past. That facial hair always did bug me though. Or will it stab and upset me that we got deflected from another course that I have vestiges of desire for?

Sometimes, too, I think that it's a delayed mourning, that got distributed through the first months of my new relationship because it didn't have time of its own to pour out. Thank god, too. Grief is so hard on me. I don't like to be alone with it.

It is a personal tragedy of mine that the richest, most accelerated and interesting periods of my life do not easily accommodate writing about them.

Even in the old days of paper journals, the sedate lulls between peak experiences are well-represented, while the harrowing, exuberant mental and emotional growth spurts go undocumented.

Sorry about the six weeks. I think last time I was in heart-rending agony over being betrayed and abandoned. This time, it was a job that took me away from home for 4 weeks, combined with a quick switch in relationships, some spontaneous traveling, and starting to play house with a new man.

Tantalizingly, I can sketch broadly that I'm having ultra-frequent, spectacular and experimental sex. I've developed an obsession with hentai, and the ability to come without straightening my legs like a tetanus victim. I got to watch my man have sex with another woman and it was one of the most luminous and beautiful experiences of my life.

I am powering along the road I'm meant to be on with a ferocity and clarity I've long been missing. Several people and many prominent features of "my old life" have simply vanished.

I have a strong intention (still) to not abandon this blog, but to write like I intended when I moved: not in any way bound by chronology or topic, but about whatever and whenever I damn well please.

Thanks for the readership, still. You are a patient and committed bunch.