Along Came a Spider......

So the story goes,

I met someone.  For now, let’s skip over how we met each other. Just know we met in a safe space that requires us to mentally connect (or not). 

He’s in his 40s. I’ve never had conversations with a man in his 40s that I thought to be a potential suitor for myself. I’ve dated and kicked it and talked to and had conversations with and sex with men who I have almost always been able to spot for who they REALLY were right off the bat, even if I proceeded with shitty rose colored glasses. But this is some truly new stuff for my arena. No lie.

Where to begin ?

I haven’t blogged in what seems like so long that I have somewhat forgotten all the rules I put in place only a month or two ago as I move forward with this blog and work on turning it into a best seller harder. I know one of the issues was length. So all this unnecessary wording will start to become less and less…obviously, I’m not off to the greatest start yet, but I will indeed get there. So back to #TheGuy. That’s what I will refer to him as.

He is NOT my muse.

I have not written anything about him and even in the different moments that I thought to be poetic and poem worthy, I did not allow my pen to move Earth on pages….i feel like I’m almost fearful to let myself be ‘Mused’ again by anyone….once I start writing poems, I start believing what I have written.  It’s hard to disconnect from it. It’s hard to write what I think and feel and wonder and then leave it right there on the page so at least for now, I am refusing to accept a muse in such a way.

But I would almost call him muse-worthy.

Truth is, I like him. I do.

He likes me too.  It is what it is. I won’t counterbalance this with a series of doubtful questions and antics. I do believe the feeling is mutual. Nothing intense or love or nothing like that. Not even close. I wonder if I will ever be able to love again and not ‘be able’ meaning will my emotions allow it? But rather, ‘be able’ meaning will I allow it? Will I allow myself an opportunity to love another person again in this life ?

It feels like I won’t sometimes. I have found myself trying to put space and distance and time between the two of us like a crazy mad woman who on the first whiff of a potential suitor, tosses him into the Lion’s Den while lighting a cigarette. I don’t smoke cigarettes tho.

He doesn’t live here.

And I love that! It almost forces space because there are so many miles between us. We can’t get lost in a dopamine destinations because we can’t even put our bodies together in hugging fashion at our will. All we can do is talk on the phone. He ABHORS social media….and I love that about him.  I have been hesitant to speak about him in any form because if I do, that means he’s real, which means he REALLY has the opportunity to put a new spin on hurt for me…..

But thinking like that would be thinking the iLLs into existence. So I’m trying my best and giving my greatest effort not to let that be what happens.

I tell you this much:

The fear is palpable. The fears are everywhere, around every turning point of conversations, close to my eyes, my heart, my entire chest cavity and more….the fear of being opened up enough to be hurt and disappointed makes me wonder how we ever ended up being on the phone. We are on the phone a lot. I have not talked on the phone with anyone this much since djeasydyck and even with him, we didn’t talk THIS much. Dude is quiet too. ….he’s almost reserved a lil bit. But he told me something in a text last night that made me do a double take for many reasons. I sent him a picture of me all dolled up and headed into the Floetry concert in Chicago….his reply was ‘’omg, you look stunning’’.

O.O

Excuse me sir ?

Caller you say wha- ???!!!

O.O

Oh your God ? I look stunning? Hmmm

This was interesting for several reasons:

 1.  I’ve never been called stunning by a male suitor before. I’ve been called sexy more times than I could possibly count. I’ve been called beautiful by a handful and I’ve even managed a pretty once or twice. Cute perhaps. Idk….all these colorful words are less than heavy factors in my life. I would say 90% of the time, I’ve been called SEXY. The end.  Being called STUNNING shouldn’t strike me as a surprise the way it did. It shouldn’t have been as impressive as it was. But it did and it was. The OMG just added a hint of ‘maybe he really believes that shit” to it.  And so rather than fight it, I just accepted that for the first time ever, a man thought ME to be stunning. A man that actually likes me and hasn’t had sex with me thought ME to be stunning.  Go figure. I deserve to not second guess it.

   2.  The fact that I was taken off guard by such a simple compliment made me feel ways. But I basically just explained that point in point number 1, so for sake of length, let’s move on.

3. Lastly, as seen in this blog, I have been known to 'project ' my feelings onto others and get mad when they are not forwarding those projections properly back into me....I say this to say, I hang on to words and there meaning. I interpret what is said to me not just by considering the source. ...I also consider the definition.  If u say, damn it's hot toda, odds are I'm going to think it's hot and that's it....because to HOT means heat is being circulated, or at least it does when I use the word....I will also believe you  because you're a believable source. Now let's apply that theory to the word STUNNING....when I use it, I am thinking WOW YOU ARE ON SOME HIERARCHY OF BEAUTIFUL. ..not in comparison to anyone else. Simply acknowledging an extraordinary radiance dancing in your mirror....that's how I mean it when I say it. But that doesn't mean that's how he means it. To him, stunning and 'she cute' might have no difference. ...idk. I don't want to think so hard but I'm damn near afraid not to. I'm scared to woman up and own it, as suggested by a girlfriend yesterday.  Own it: own your beautiful,  own your flaws, own your shine, your life...own your stunning. Own it that you like him. Own it that he likes you. 

I want to be at a point where dating isn’t such a process that involves all this heavy duty overthinking and hypothesis creations. I want to date and have fun and be free and move on when it’s not right and stick around what feels good. I want to like someone and have that like reciprocated. I want to remember what butterflies feel like……

And I do.

I won't lie and pretend I don't feel these flutters. I won't try to save face and ignore it or refrain from calling attention to it. But I also don't want to get caught up in singing love songs like they are my life and floating around on cloud whatever because of someone who has the potential to kick me off his cloud whenever he feels like.... But at the same time, it's exciting and I do want to just say "hey world, nothing to really see here but um, I LIKE SOMEONE" ....  Lol. So again, if I were being 100, I’d say that he gives me the same butterflies Floetry sang about last night. Butterflies.

Stomach tickles and anticipation. Heart beats subsided by drinking water that you almost choke on when the conversations take a turn for the greater. Anticipation. We anticipate meeting each other and clinking our red wine glasses together for an inaugural toast. It’s strange to me. It all feels really strange. The last time I thought I connected with someone, we disconnected so quickly and without real reason (or at least explanation), that I feel PETRIFIED to connect again out of fear that if I give an ounce of vulnerability to him, he will take a yard’s worth of me for granted.

That scares me.

But it scares me even more to let this fear hinder me. If not this man, it will happen with the next. I’m ready to learn from someone. I’m ready to part ways when ways need to be parted and it not be this big deal. It really be a case of ‘we weren’t for each other but wish each other the best’ ….i can’t do the enemies. And I definitely can’t do whores, liars and conmen.  But wait –

I can’t do doubt, fear and impossibilities. I can’t run when I feel good or jump when the butterflies are carrying me to the phone. He calls. I answer sometimes. Sometimes I don’t. I’m not  trying to play games, but I am aware of how quickly I became a casualty of war last time and I am most certainly trying to pace myself at the end of a snail’s tail.

He scares me and gives me butterflies.  In theory, he’s too perfect for me. He’s Adonis. A body that I would fall into to get away from the world, a gorgeous smile, great mind, GROWN ATTITUDE AND CONVO, a great job that he’s been at for 8 years and excels in (which I’m sure pays him well….he’s a field guy). He only has one child who’s deep in his teens. I mean, damn. Why me, as one of my ex’s used to say!!! It doesn’t seem like I’m supposed to have that. I’m supposed to get the bottom feeders, whores, liars, cheaters and users. ….the ones that have a hard time breaking out into the world of 'living on your own'....the ones who jobs barely pay enough to cover the bills...the ones that think fucking is the end-all-be-all of any connecting with a woman. The ones with miles and miles of sperm left across the country....I'm supposed to have the students. Because teaching is what I do....right? I'm supposed to teach a new nigga how to love a greater woman than me....right? 

Or....
is it my time yet? To just be free and run through a field of fun until the flowers run out and my allergies kick in.... is it my turn yet? 

I don’t entertain wild thoughts like ‘I wonder if it’s him’, because IF it is, I will know that in perfect timing. But if he isn’t, can we stay just like this until we are not anymore??….we have had no physical contact, not even so much as a hug and I wonder what will change for the good and bad when we do??

Last night, during the Floetry concert, we were texting back and forth.

We talk a lot and since I knew that we wouldn’t talk that night, I felt this ‘freeness’ about texting him. I sent texts with giggle worthy smiles exchanged from me to him and excitement from him to me.  It was nothing big. Nothing nasty. Nothing freaky. Just two people who, at least for the time being, enjoy each other voices and finger clicks.

I had chills this morning when I woke up and thought back to all the texts I so willingly sent his way. It made me ‘nervous’. Like I had done too much. Gone too far.  Mind you, I really didn’t do nothing. The most I did was send him the chorus from Butterflies.  But when I recalled that this morning, I cringed at myself in embarrassment. How could I do that ?

Why would I show him a card that’s not a club? * sigh*

It really disturbed me all morning. :/

Then he called me before I went to lunch and talked on the phone about the Sam Dubose case in Cincinnati …..one of the things that has bonded us is our love of black people and the tire of the blatant disregard for our lives. We’ve spent the last couple of days on the phone, only talking in between breaks but listening to the press conference together. I’ve listened to his radio through the phone as the morning crew took callers prior to the release of the video. Somehow, the death of yet another unarmed black man in America has brought me closer to getting to know one of my own. He’s not mine. I don’t claim him. I don’t expect that he isn’t interested or pursuing other women and I’m not making him my ‘one and only’ like I did the last time. Although, I’m not just gonna jump at another dude to keep me neutral and open. If I find someone else who I am interested in and vice versa, then so be it. For now, it’s fortunately unfortunate that it’s just him. I keep trying to be elusive but the butterflies carry me right into his flattery of me.

I’ve uplifted and empowered myself in great detail. I’ve taken every picture and modeled in fashion shows. I’ve been made up and down and learned to love myself regardless…..but I have not been flattered, courted, or just-

…amused. Not besides this blog.

And along came a spider…..

And last night, he told me ‘omg, you are stunning’.  Not you look stunning. 

"YOU ARE."

I’m too heavy on words for this type of shit. These type of butterflies scare me because sometimes if you blink too much, you will find they were always just moths.

I’m trying.

I really am.

I like someone.

And he likes me.

And I believe it.

And it scares me to believe ANYTHING a man says.

And I don’t want to.

But I want to be fair and not make him ‘pay for the past’ that doesn’t even include him.

EFF EFF EFF……i see a HUGE difference between him and that last guy. In the most random, softest and most subtle places, I see major differences and to the surface of the eye, these differences are just that: Differences. But in reality, these differences are mile markers that tell a story about a man.....that's one of the things I learned from the original Muse of this blog.....how to spot stuff and appreciate it rather than counting it as something 'small' and therefore, refraining from 'sweating the small stuff'.... in reality, the small stuff is the shit you should be sweating....because if it's noticeable enough that your eyebrow raises (or at least that's what happens to me), then obviously, it's actually not that small at all. Or at the very least, it's something that matters..... and in the long run, after you have refrained from sweating these small beads of 'stuff', you will realize just how much they taught you about that person while you too busy trying to be politically correct in a budding relationship..... ahhhh life...

the life of over and under thinking but yet trying to find the balance between the  two....say 'ahhhh'..... I am paying attention to the small stuff......

and for once, 
FOR FUCKING ONCE IN MY LIFE, 
it's not running me in the other direction...
it's noticeable.
which means it's important....
and it's DEFINITELY telling me a story about a man I am getting to know.... 

I like him.

Dammit.  I’m going in circles trying to KEEP myself from liking someone….who would have ever dreamed this would be life?  Why can’t I just ….BE. …where dudes are concerned ? Geez, just let him like me and if he turns out to be a fraudulent case of mistaken identity, chuck the deuces, count my losses and move on???? 

It’s the fear of the disappointment….i know it is. It’s the fear of liking someone BACK.  Opening up to them and having them shit all over my porridge and call it milk and honey extract.

But I ain’t went no where. 
I guess I'm still trying to clear my eyes beyond the surface. My usual response to stuff is "i have no expectations'.....as if saying that will create some form of 'balance'. 

it doesn't.
it actually creates an imbalance if anything. 
So every time I hear myself about to say that, I catch it and throw it backwards to the mental landfill of unnecessary thoughts....

I DO have expectations....are they to fall in love, move to where he is and get married???? Nah. Not that type of expectation.

But I have them.
And I won't lessen them or ignore them or renig on them or compromise myself for a lesser version of what I expect from a man.  Wowz. 

I actually met someone.
And I like him. 

I called him when I came back from lunch. He didn’t answer.  He called me right back, but I had my earphones on by then. I haven’t returned the call. And probably won’t. 

I need a minute to …….remember to breathe, in my safe zone. <3

BLOGTRACK:

“we should learn to breathe again

Before we suffocate

All these talks but even then

We excommunicate

I’ve never known another love

That looks at me the way you do

………….there’s nothing to say

Your eyes said it all

I’m not looking away

Your eyes hold everything. …everything. “

~Lianna La Havas, Everything Everything

 This is still a long blog...i know. :/  * shrug * 

I'd apologize but nah. It is whatever it tis.