I feel like marble cake.
Darkness is mixed up in me in shapes I cannot disentangle.

Timing in love is everything. He can be Prince fucking Charming but if his white horse decides to take a crap while he’s smiling at you, it’s not going to work out.
Timing is everything Simon and I are missing. And it’s going to be our disgrace. Timing when I shouldn’t even be considering relationships, since I’m legally not even separated yet, timing when he doesn’t feel ready to have one. Timing that got us together by chance, after so many years when it could have happened and never did, timing that probably got us together in the one and only instance when it could make a difference.

And I am going to end up like the typical bonfire guitar player: serenading the pretty girl, who will inevitably start snogging the other guy sitting next to her.

I wish I knew, or rather, I wish I could realise and grasp on how many levels I am being an idiot.

I am treading on thin ice, because I know how much this situation could hurt me, not only objectively, but stirring up emotions way outside of my control, just as it has always been. I know, this could build expectations and hopes that should never arise given the very uncertain situation. Still, there is something holding me right where I am, unable to walk away and forget it ever happened. I wish I knew if it’s simple lack of guts or something deeper. I even built up a fabulous excuse, which deep inside I think could be true: having him may prevent me from seeking others, who may not be so gentle and respectful, who may hurt me intentionally, who may be just the wrong choice. So be it, I’ll keep it all in my head.

But then I realised it could be a bad idea for him too.

It could be smooth.
He could find another girl in a couple of months and go live happily ever after with her; I could find someone else in a couple of months and go live happily for just about a couple of weeks; we both could realise there is something we don’t like about the other and just give up; we could realise we are just good friends; we could just stop writing and never see each other again.

Or it could be miraculous.
He might lose the fear and the rationality and decide it doesn’t matter what happens later, what matters is what happens today.

What if there and then I understand how not ready I am for a full-blown relationship and feel the urge to run?

Of course, I’ve never seen a miracle happen in my entire life, so I’ll worry about it when the time comes.

There is something about him that makes him special. I can’t see what it is, but I feel it every time we share something. In each word he writes, in things he does, in explanations he gives me. We know so little about each other it’s hard to say I know him, all I could say is that so far he is spotless and I just want with all my heart to go looking for the rest. It’s like uncovering a long gone fresco underneath layers and layers of dull common paint: you wait for the day the image will be complete and every day you scrap a tiny bit of cover with expectation. The curiosity to know more, to share, to exchange, as if our skins were laid out in front of us in a single canvas and they came to adhere millimeter after millimeter until we can touch each other completely.

This lust to touch him is scary. I feel the need for his physical presence and it’s all I’m never going to have and if the need grows, it will crush me.

Giving him this space is something I am inclined to do because I feel it’s worth it. In time, flaws will be unveiled, my balance partly healed if not restored, maybe his too, but the struggle will be keeping the flame alive without letting it burn out. The way I have reacted so far makes me think this is not going to happen. We are going to end up torched.

I don’t want to pressure him and I don’t want to seduce him. The first because I am not sure enough of what I want, the second because it would be only bad for me. It would be easy, but I would hurt him, because that’s not what he wants, and I would hurt myself when he would turn away from me, not trusting me and unable to cope with the rush.

I don’t know when I’ll see him again, if ever. I wanted to go home this weekend, to see him before a whole month goes by from the last time, but this falling out we had… it would feel like pressuring him. I wish it came from him, I wish he asked me about it, then I could arrange plans accordingly, but I don’t want to be the one to drop the bomb.

Every day I get scared that he might change his mind and call himself out, scared that he may say he can’t do it anymore, scared that I may say or do something wrong and push him away. Scared that what scares me might come true.

I cannot know how it’s going to end, but if I have to guess from how it started I know one thing for sure: it’s going to be torture.

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