currently feeling: bittersweet.

hurting someone i care about because of feeling the way i do for someone else, is surreal, tearing at myself.

i have omitted things from the blog because of that.
i wrote things these past weeks about my life, described scenes and moments, leaving him out. i read these sentences now, knowing he was there, wondering why i couldn't muster up the energy, the will for honesty, why i was such a coward. this here, this blog, describes my life. i write this for me. no one but me looks at it as often as i do, no one will look back at it as often as i do. i should, no, i want to be honest here, because i wasn't at opendiary, years ago, wasn't here for a while either, constructing an alternate reality in which evan and i were perfect and happy, an alternate reality in which all was well. i fooled myself: i don't want this again.

years from now, i will want to remember what waking up next to him is like, him usually being awake already, looking at me. i want to remember his seefahrer eyes, the taste of his skin, his long limbs and travellers and climber's body and skinniness, the soft golden hairs on his tan belly. i want to remember riding my bike along the river, on my way to his place on a hot summer sunday afternoon. i want to be able to bring up an image of us on my balcony at night. i want to remember looking into his eyes, holding his gaze. i want to write down our words, the one's we've reclaimed and analysed, the talk of vegas and white sheets and so much else.

but it is more than bittersweet to do so, here.