...and I wake up alone.

It's okay in the day I'm staying busy
Tied up enough so I don't have to wonder where is he
Got so sick of crying
So just lately
When I catch myself I do a 180
I stay up clean the house
At least I'm not drinking
Run around just so I don't have to think about thinking
That silent sense of content
That everyone gets
Just disappears soon as the sun sets

This face in my dreams seizes my guts
He floods me with dread
Soaked in soul
He swims in my eyes by the bed
Pour myself over him
Moon spilling in
And I wake up alone

So goes an Amy Winehouse's song. And so I feel. I've been in this distinct state of contemptuous ennui for the last weeks. Him being away gives me time to breathe and also to miss him. Welcome to the never ending mess that's my feelings.
Funny, how custom seems to be stronger than love or lust. I know he may be having a few good times with some Asian boy, but i don't seem to care too much. After all, I'd be the beneficiary of his newly gained skills when he returns. Don't you think?
On the other hand, I don't even feel like cheating. I've had the chance in these weeks, to get my freak on with someone else. It's so easy in this age of cyberhookups and friends with benefits. But I haven't done it. I think I'm desireless. Apathetic. Fed up. I don't know. I want him when he's not here. I shy away from him when he is.
But right now I just know that I miss having him in my bed. And that I don't want just anybody in it, either. I told you I've come to realize that I cannot separate sex from emotions. I want to have sex with someone who means something to me. Letting any anonymous and pretentious cock fuck me just for the hornyness of it does not seem attractive anymore. It did, many years ago, when I could lose myself in the moment and then come out ready to dance until four in the morning or go grab a bite after having fucked some hot piece of dick. Nowadays the cock for the cock of it has lost its allure. Maybe that's why I'm somehow jealous of the Montrealer, through whomI live some of my one-night-stand fantasies, or through any other of the bloggers that I read who tell us stories drenched in the lust of the moment.
I want to fuck and love at the same time. I want the flesh and the feeling. I guess I'm destined to have what I miss while not wanting it and miss what I don't want while not having it. Funny, ain't it? I'd laugh if I weren't busy feeling a little sorry for myself.
Oh, and you would have had fun in that potluck thing I invited you to. You'd have had time to talk to real people.
Cheers, babyboy.