What did I think would happen?
I used romantic comedy references to explain how I was feeling, but I certainly didn’t expect a romantic comedy resolution (which, by the way, would have looked something like The Voyeur showing up at my doorstep, offering a short, dramatic monologue before telling me he loved me too, a single tear of happiness, a long kiss, the perfect song plays, end scene). That I hoped for a tidy resolution at all points to my short-sightedness, my selfishness.
Broaching deep or emotionally-fraught topics with The Voyeur has always been how I imagine it would be to try to move closer to a wild bird: no sudden movements, no loud noises, wait patiently and he’ll eventually feel safe enough to tolerate my approach. And while this strategy has allowed for the gradual development of intimacy, it also should have clued me in to how my last post would affect him. It was like setting off a fireworks display, hoping the bird will stay put.
So here I am, 40 (oh, how appropriate) hours later, kicking myself for my clumsy, myopic delivery. Shit shit shit.
I tried to tell myself that I had zero expectations, and perhaps that was true when I decided to torpedo my personal life via my commitment to honesty in blogging. But right now…well, here are my revised expectations:
I will ache.
I will second guess my aforementioned “commitment to honesty in blogging.”
I will dive into my feelings and find that they run much deeper than I anticipated.