I have become "the other man". There, I said it. But it's not so black and white as you might imagine. New York is exclusive, if that's what you can even call it, with a guy who lives in Texas. Who he has only seen in person about, at the most, five times in the past five years. New York stands by his claim that they are very close due to the letters and emails and video chats that they exchange, which is probably true; but when did a pen pal become the foundation for a personal relationship? You can't kiss an envelope. It just leads to paper cuts. And lets not even bring up where else you could get paper cuts if you decided to be exclusive with the post. Is licking the stamp considered foreplay to them? I don't understand it! Better yet, New York doesn't understand it! I've talked with him about it, both sober and non sober, and he has no real explanation for it. (you might be thinking why I would chose to bring up this topic with him, but that's what friends do; they talk about their relationships. plus, I need to know who my competition is) So New York says that they connect and agree on a lot of issues, which is great if you want to start a club or a political campaign. But how is that satisfying the emotional, physical and relational needs of a romantic entanglement? Plus New York is not moving down there anytime soon, he is weeks away from finishing is medical internship and had already been offered a position at the hospital, so he's not going anywhere. And this Texas Stamp Licker is in no position to come up here anytime soon. So it's not like they are even going to be able to be in the same room anytime soon. Which once again brings up the question of: how long before I state my case? Because I am fading fast. I can't lay in his bed and cuddle with his cats while he showers and puts his scrubs on and puts on the coffee and gets ready to go to work, all the while thinking to myself (yet again): this is lovely, this is how it should be. It's dangerous for me to think like that. It's painful. Extremely painful. I've gone running almost every night this week because I know if I try to go to sleep, sleep won't come. I'll be laying in bed staring at my ceiling, with this puzzled look stretched across my face, wondering how this all got so fucked up. How he got back into my life. How I allowed myself to fall back into him. To fall back into ****. I won't admit that yet. No way. No friggin way. I owned up to being "the other man", but I'm not admitting to falling back into **** with him. WAY too dangerous. I spend every second in my head trying to convince myself that he's not the same wonderful, delightful, intelligent goofy New York Cuddler that I fell in **** with years ago. But, he is. Actually he's even hotter then before. And even more put together. It's terrible. It doesn't help my situation at all. It's so dangerous. Allow me to be petty for a moment. This Texas Stamp Licker bitch, isn't even cute. He takes medication which causes him to break out in acne. Which doesn't mean no one should ever love him, I suffered with acne for years, I was on every drug the FDA approved and the one they didn't, I use to have to get blood drawn because I was part of a test group, I know his pain; so I'm not picking on him because his complexion is shit. I'm just saying that New York deserves comparable pairing. The Texas Stamp Licker deserves to find someone who will love him and enjoy him for who he is, but it doesn't need to be New York. And why should New York tie himself to a pimpled little boy who is miles away, when I'm the cute runner who lives seconds away and is hopelessly devoted to him. I'm not going to resort to Merteuil tactics, because in the movie that didn't work out so well, but I am going to remind New York, every chance I get, that I'm local, devoted, and wonderful. Plus, like I said, his hands are in the cookie jar right next to mine. Don't think I'm some kind of cookie monster in this scenario, New York likes to make cookies too; he's usually the one starting the recipe first. And we make such great cookies together. Really, no really!, we should be together. WE should be the exclusive part of this dangerous love triangle. I'm going to get fucked over, I just know it. I want to believe there is some chance that I might end up a winner, but that part of my brain/soul just doesn't exist anymore. That part of me has been killed off. I'm going to be left with no New York, and just a package of Oreo cookies. Which I will eat a lone.
"It's beyond my control." -Vicomte Sebastien de Valmont
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