(no subject)
We had breakfast, all four of us together, and later, the girls'll go off with Kara and Tom and I'll have the night to ourselves. We need it, we really do, and it also means I don't feel like such a fuckin' asshole for askin' him to give me a few hours to be on my own.
Years ago, I spent my birthday this very same way. Out on the water, on my own. That year, I was newly single. This year, I'm... well, I don't know what word to give it. A widower, I guess. That sounds too fuckin' formal, and it doesn't seem right, considering I've still got Tom waiting for me back home.
A husband and a spare. Lucky how I worked it out that way, for myself. Yeah, right. Lucky.
I couldn't stomach having a party. Tom mentioned it, more than once, his smile too bright, forcefully cheerful, trying so fuckin' hard to make everything okay. But no matter how many faces turned up, how many people I love and I know love me back, there'd be this undeniable hole there, and I can't go around secretly wishing -- in that deep and dark and fucked up place in myself that I thought was long gone but really isn't -- that I could trade every one of those people for one I know I'm never gonna see again. Which isn't even true, but I find myself thinking it, in my worst moments, and then hating myself for it for days afterward.
I'd trade every one of you, to have him back. I'd give anything to have that feeling, again.
So, no party, and no fucking fuss made. Twenty-three'll come and go with a quiet dinner and maybe a little booze and, if I'm lucky, sex that doesn't feel so fucking desperate. But for now, I'm making use of the waves, walking out of the water in a wet suit with my board under one arm, my face flushed and my hair wet and slicked back, and right now, things feel okay.
I think today's gonna be okay...
[[If you know him, there's a good chance you know it's his birthday, but he hasn't made a big deal out of it. He's in a relatively decent mood, all things considered, but probably a little subdued, so he definitely won't mind the company. ST/LT always welcome.]]
Years ago, I spent my birthday this very same way. Out on the water, on my own. That year, I was newly single. This year, I'm... well, I don't know what word to give it. A widower, I guess. That sounds too fuckin' formal, and it doesn't seem right, considering I've still got Tom waiting for me back home.
A husband and a spare. Lucky how I worked it out that way, for myself. Yeah, right. Lucky.
I couldn't stomach having a party. Tom mentioned it, more than once, his smile too bright, forcefully cheerful, trying so fuckin' hard to make everything okay. But no matter how many faces turned up, how many people I love and I know love me back, there'd be this undeniable hole there, and I can't go around secretly wishing -- in that deep and dark and fucked up place in myself that I thought was long gone but really isn't -- that I could trade every one of those people for one I know I'm never gonna see again. Which isn't even true, but I find myself thinking it, in my worst moments, and then hating myself for it for days afterward.
I'd trade every one of you, to have him back. I'd give anything to have that feeling, again.
So, no party, and no fucking fuss made. Twenty-three'll come and go with a quiet dinner and maybe a little booze and, if I'm lucky, sex that doesn't feel so fucking desperate. But for now, I'm making use of the waves, walking out of the water in a wet suit with my board under one arm, my face flushed and my hair wet and slicked back, and right now, things feel okay.
I think today's gonna be okay...
[[If you know him, there's a good chance you know it's his birthday, but he hasn't made a big deal out of it. He's in a relatively decent mood, all things considered, but probably a little subdued, so he definitely won't mind the company. ST/LT always welcome.]]