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Airport thoughts

Written 04/30/2010 while I waited to board my flight…

I’m writing this from San Francisco International Airport, but who knows when I will actually be able to post it. I’m still appalled that this airport doesn’t offer free wireless.

I don’t know what it is about this particular morning, or this particular airport, but I’m feeling inexplicably moody. Suddenly and without warning, thoughts of Tim are flooding my mind. It still happens every so often (though less and less frequently) that I get sudden flares of residual anger surrounding this man. And with each instance I have to close my eyes and just let it take its course. And always, the same questions. Why? How could he? How could I be so naïve? So stupid?

And each time I get angry at myself. Three years gone, and still he can affect me like this. Three years, yet I can still remember, with vivid detail, every feature of his face. Sometimes I think he will always be there, a hidden ghost haunting my every relationship, questioning the trust I place in each person. After all, I’ve more or less determined that my kink is a large, necessary part of my being and will always be a prominent part of my life, and Tim will always be the man with whom I first explored kink.

Human minds have this annoying propensity for remembering milestones and landmarks, personal or otherwise.

And then there was the instance, after many months of silence following my departure, where I got a cryptic, late-night IM from him. It said, simply: you still don’t know what you’re missing do you.

I felt a clutch of fear from reading this, not knowing how to interpret the message. But I never responded. Remembering, now, I still feel that clutch of fear.

Still … I have come a long way, I think. I no longer question my self worth or wonder whether or not I ever meant anything to him. I no longer wonder whether my absence burned as much of a hole in his life as his did in mine. The wound has closed, and only the faintest of scars, it seems, remains.

So perhaps I have just brushed against that scar this morning, reminding me that it is even there. And no – I still don’t know what it is he feels I’m missing. It certainly is not him, and I am content never to see or hear of him again. If he means to imply that I am lacking a more fulfilling life for having left him – well, the mere thought is incredulous and scoff-worthy. As a friend and confidant stressed repeatedly throughout this period of time, the best revenge I can have is to live a fulfilling, rich life and to create my own happiness.

I think, so far, I’m heading down the right path.

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