Sometimes I believe it is righteous indignation and sometimes I believe I am just mad at myself for being an ass.
Truth: He used every "loophole" in the book to make betrayal seem more like a misunderstanding.
Truth: this, in and of itself is a betrayal, of trust, if nothing else.
Bigger truth: I knew, just a bit, all along, and let myself believe. I knew, all along, there was an abyss where there should have been a warm, sweet pool.
And I still think about it.
I still dream about it.
Because it is the last loss of innocence.
Here is what I dream about. The feeling. The moment before I stopped believing, completely, and whatever that felt like, even though it made no sense.
The moment when I looked into his eyes and saw a sign of human life, saw a shred of authentic empathy.
And I dream about the awakening, and the reality, and the part in which I can not forgive myself for having a relationship almost entirely with my fantasies and not with a real person, not with the person standing there, not with the "object" of my affections who was less having a relationship than the romantic equivelent of a smoke break.
In my defense, it comes up, it rears its head because it is still right there. In conversations. In the spiderweb of social interaction I encourage.
And I never know exactly what to say because "yes, I had a rather long relationship with somoene who did not have a relationship with me".
I mean, jesus. It makes me sound like a stalker. Like his biggest fan. Like pure ass.
When in reality it is more like the Truman Show, in which one of us played a part, and poorly at that, and one of us was NOT acting.
Except for the part when I acted like I knew what I was doing. Except for the part when I pretended I believed.
And maybe that is the hardest part. Maybe that is me, as they say, "losing my religion". Maybe that is me hating myself for being so very false, in my own way, and wondering wondering wondering why I would do that. How I could do that.
And, more the point, how I was so happy doing it, if even for a brief period in my life.
Or maybe it is just hard to be irrelevant to someone you once found important. Even in hindsight. To admit you WERE their biggest fan, telling everyone about the eye contact he made with you in row 3, and how when you danced it felt like JUST the two of you, and how everyone knows you are crazy even though that dance ended in a night of passion in your head, in a home and children and the unbelievable and unexpected romance of elvis falling love with the girl he was looking at in row 3. when he was, in actuality, just squinting at the light, and thinking about the cold beer he'd have when the show was over.