Alone on the Outer Banks

Vacation is ending, and I feel very alone.

I woke myself up at five a.m. to watch a sunrise that was obscured by clouds that weren't on the horizon last night and will be gone completely by the time we check out of the house at ten. Nobody else in this house or, apparently, any other nearby house had the desire to try same.

Two nights ago I slept in the lounge for the same reason, to set my alarm for five a.m. with the hope of watching the sun be on the wrong side of the day. I stayed up late drinking with my housemates and fell asleep to the susurrations of a slightly more than tipsy woman and her devoted lover, who stood a hawklike vigil over her while she drank water and whispered herself to sleep. The whole thing left me feeling odd.

I miss Ex, more right now than I have in a while, undoubtedly due, in no small part, to the fact that two of the most beautiful and brilliant women I've met are here in this house with me, both of whom bear a more than passing resemblance to Ex. When one walks by, glowing with love for her beau, my body twists in memory and anticipation. But I don't wish that Ex and I were still together and lying together on the beach, nor do I wish that one of the women here were with me instead of her actual boyfriend. I want something more encompassing and more fundamental.

When Ex and I broke up and I had my life-shattering breakdown, I lost a lot of people I love, not just Ex. "You have to love yourself before you can love anyone else" says an old saw, and I've seen enough to know it's true. I lost loves and friendships because I wasn't able to give them the love I once did. And for quite a while after that time, while I was rebuilding myself, I certainly didn't miss the requirement, the need to pour out love I didn't yet have.

It's about a year and a half later, and I've started to ache. It started when veek visited. She came to LA with an openness to be loved and a life I now envy so much, a life with many people with whom she can commune. I responded more earnestly than I could have expected, more emotionally than I had in over eighteen months, leaving my weak and trying to find, again, what I was missing.

I worry now. The ache of love shakes me all over, and I am not certain I can stay alive if warehouses of compassion must be left untouched to mold and mildew.

How do I tell the people here (and only certain people, at that) that I'd be willing to lay down my life for them? It's not so much a matter of friendship and camaraderie or good conversations and shared experiences, it's instinct. How can I do it without needing to disclaim, "And I'm not a crazy stalker-type, honest!" And how do I become a friend again when, within hours, everyone will once again be hundreds and thousands of miles away?

There's one person here, possibly (hopefully) two, who knows how I feel, and that is a blessing. I'd probably be feeling less disoriented today if I'd had a chance to talk with either of them earlier yesterday.

I want a lover, today, so that I can hold her in my arms and tell her that I love her and that I will always love her and that I would do anything for her and that I would lay down my life for her and that I would go to the ends of the earth for her and that I would turn my back on Heaven's gates if the politics of God and the afterlife prevent her from entering Paradise. I want to hold her and while doing it, also say the same to so tell her so many others who wouldn't or couldn't understand.


The sun is up, and the clouds are gone, and I have to pack.

I've still had a great time, and enjoyed this week as much as, if not more than, any other vacation in my life, but card games and Clone Wars can wait for a while to be recorded, this can't. I hope you understand. See you at home.