And I'm wholly pissed about it.
There's not much going on with Him. It appears we're both in the middle of some kind of crisis caused by things starting to get real. Feelings are blossoming. Our thoughts are invaded while standing at the Chinese restaurant waiting on comforting wonton soup. We're beginning to smell each other when neither of us is around. It's getting real. It's getting complex. It's getting human.
So, being the fucked humans we are (and we humans sure love complication), the best thing is to pretend we're just casual. Nothing's happening here, right? Just fun...right?
Relationships like ours won't work. We'd be great sexners (new word alert!). Our sex would be intense and tantric, and we'd wake up in the morning and do the whole Ann Sather thing, but with better, more tart apple juice with our breakfast. I'd order bagels and onion & chive cream cheese, read the paper and talk about my formative years. We'd be thoroughly orgasmed, because that's what sexners do -- we orgasm.
No strings.
No complications.
No love.
Lovers make love; sexners make sex. Got it.
But we're neither.
We walk past each other, flashing quick, uncomfortable smiles; neither wanting to take it to the next step. Weirdness palpable.
And I'm wholly pissed about it.