There's something to be said about feeling loved. I think that's what I enjoyed (though there was plenty to enjoy about him) most about the ex. His name, for those of you who didn't catch on, is Peter, though it feels wrong to actually refer to him by name in the blog. I don't know why. I could definitely feel his love for me. I didn't feel it always, but when I did feel it, it was some of the happiest I've ever felt.
That's probably the thing I miss most. This whole society-induced celibacy thing, man, it sucks something fierce (see pretty much every post I've ever written), but I miss the whole 'the greatest thing you'll ever learn is to be loved and be loved in return' bullshit. God I hate quoting Moulin Rouge.
The thing is, I've grown distant from all of my friends from high school. I'm pretty sure I've been replaced by taller, more jaded, more sarcastic homos in various colleges around the country. That's fine. There are more than a few girls in the building who dote on my every sardonic comment and double entendre. But it's not the same. I never really thought about loving my friends, but now that it's gone... yeah.
I miss it. I miss lighting up someone's face by walking in the room. I miss someone pretending to be indignant with me. I miss cradling my head in the crevice of his chest. I miss cracking someone up with a sly tilt of the head. I miss silly little things like clandestinely holding hands and way-too-long IM conversations late at night about who misses who the most. I miss feeling guilty about having someone wipe away my tears. I miss all that stupid old shit like letters and sodas. I miss it.
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I've mentioned in the past how I occasionally babysit for some kids from church. They're great kids. The youngest, August, is 19 months, and is the cutest little blonde haired, blue eyed little thing since Hitler's first aryan wet dream. I didn't think he would recognize me from the times I babysat him during Christmas break.
Imagine my surprise when, during silent meditation and prayer, I hear
"Bob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob-ob"
The little tyke had slipped from his mom's lap and was waddling down the aisle to greet me, with a huge shit-eating grin on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. He got to me and started trying to climb onto my lap. I lifted him up, he stood on my legs and gave me a b-i-i-g hug. We're talking a whole body sort of hug, none of this 'two-taps-on-the-back-I'm-a-straight-male' sort of thing.
I lifted him up and made a motion to his parents that I had him, and it was fine. He then lifted his little head and gave me a kiss on the nose. I smiled at him, made the 'shush' face with my forefinger to my lips, and turned him around to watch the service. And beamed like a motherfucker.
If only he were twenty years older. And potty-trained. Then, maybe, I'd have been the happiest guy on earth.
Eh, who am I kidding. It still felt pretty great.
