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|koalalady (profile) wrote, |
on 8-15-2017 at 9:12pm
|Current mood: contemplative
Music: Explosions in the Sky
|I miss working with D so fucking much.
For one thing, he was talented. Not as good as me, but he was smart, and passionate, and political, and he knew the game even better than I did. He knew what I could do, and he knew what I wanted. And for a little while, I thought I was what he wanted.
Honestly I didn't mind so much, the way that things ended in that department. But the fact that he stopped talking to me about his projects and ideas, the fact that we stopped composing and writing, that fucking killed me. I didn't care about losing a boy toy. But I really cared about losing my partner.
That's what he was to me: my creative partner. Do you know how fucking rare that is to find? Someone who likes you and shares enough of your headspace to collaborate on a project, let alone dream up a lifetime of projects?
And then he just...stopped...
...replying to emails, texts...
...and got married...
About four years ago (after we had already stopped talking, way before he got married) I was getting on a plane in the middle of some shitty weather, and I had one of those overhyped, irrational fear moments where I wondered maybe for a second if the plane might not land - that I might not come out the other side. So I pulled out my phone, literally jogging with my luggage down the terminal (because we also had like 5 minutes or something before the next plane was scheduled for takeoff), and he was the person I called with my minute to spare. Not my boyfriend, not my parents, not my best friend. I called D, and went to voicemail - and yeah, I left one of those sappy messages that's like, "... ... ..." but what could I say? I love you? I miss you? Even then, it would have been too much. So I just said something completely stupid like... "hey...I'm about to get on a plane...thinking of you..."
He told me later that he got it. But I don't know whether he "got" what I was really trying to say, behind the words, in that moment.
I never talk about him anymore, or think about him, really. But sometimes when I'm wondering why it's so hard to be creative on my own, without a structure, or a friend, I remember D. And I feel just a little bit better knowing that somewhere, a billion years ago before I got all jaded and empty, someone held my hand...and walked along with me and saw what I saw when I pointed up at the stars and said, "that looks like..." and "what if we...?"
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