There are always choices.
I could bottle it all back up. Pretend we never discussed the possibility. Return to business as usual. I could push it all away. Disconnect from the feelings, and find distance. Logic myself out of trouble. I could move forward. Push the issue, take a chance that I’ll succeed. Take a chance that I’ll fail.
It’s always about you.
What’s best for you.
What’s easiest for you.
What will make you happy.
I can’t not focus on that. I try.
I tried to make you take the lead, until I saw your discomfort. I couldn’t just let you struggle to explain things. And I couldn’t let you stumble into something deeper than you were asking for, so I had to be honest. I did so knowing it’d suck, that you’d change your mind. Knowing the happiness you want is different from what I have to give.
Polyamory is stupid, and difficult, and frustrating, and awe-inspiring.
I’ve never loved people so deeply, or so unconditionally, or so eternally. It’s painfully beautiful, the way I feel every day toward so many different people. It’s looking up into the night sky and realizing how intimately connected I am to the entire Universe, to every star and speck of dust.
Overwhelming. It’s completely overwhelming.
I can’t not love someone just to make them more comfortable. I can’t lie like that, not with a heart so ridiculously open. And I can’t be sorry for loving people, either. My love isn’t a weapon, or leaverage, or a leash, or a contageous disease. It’s the feeling of happiness at another’s existence. It’s resonating, spirit to spirit, energy to energy. It’s glowing when you think of a specific person, place, or thing. It’s the glue that holds us all together.
I’m frustrated. No choice is a perfect choice. If I bottle everything back up, I’m lying to myself and pretending that nothing’s changed; the whole reason I was able to curl into myself before was in the face of complete disinterest and rejection. If I push everything away, it risks losing parts of our friendship that hold the deepest connection; after all, being close friends is why I fell in love in the first place. If I take a chance and ignore your decision to back down, I risk alienating you and other friends; I could succeed, but it could also blow up in my face.
I’ve written this journal entry a dozen times, deleting line after line of indecisiveness for weeks. I’m not a private, quiet person; it’s unnatural for me to keep my thought-trains and internal debates completely to myself. I respect your privacy, but I also respect my right to speak. That’s why this whole thing is so iceburg: a surface peak only, no glance at the real scope of things. I wonder if this is all a test from the Universe and, if so, which way my lesson is supposed to head.
Or maybe the Trickster has taken a liking to me?