#8: the center of your universe

I miss you. But you must understand why I haven't talked to you in over two months. Since our birthday, your party, which at the last moment you tried to play off as our party. I don't feel like we have to celebrate all our birthdays together; you're half my age. But I also don't feel like I have to be present at your party if I don't feel like it.

You haven't called me in two months either.

It seems to me you surround yourself with people who adore you. That's not a hard task, you are adorable. You make me feel young. And you make me feel really old. You titillated me with stories of your attempts at being gay, with your best friend, when you were sixteen or something. As if that would make me feel closer to you. What it did was make so much more obvious the pain in the struggle of my own attempts, at being straight, at being gay. At not being able to simply be who I am.

Who am I anyway?

Your life has been charmed. I know, I know, your father's dead, things are not exactly perfect for you, but there are plenty of people -- women mostly -- surrounding you, saying, "It's okay, let me hold you." You take advantage of all those offers. You're a little more reticent to receive my offer. Not that I ever made one outright. But I thought about it, thought about holding you, for comfort's sake (not that my thoughts have been completely 100% chaste).

But you know. You know how I feel. You're surrounded by people who feel this way about you. And you're a Scorpio, with all the inherent intuitiveness of a Scorpio.

The one opportunity we had to sleep in the same bed, you did a weird thing that I can't get out of my head: you said you had to sleep with a pillow between your knees to help you "sleep with better posture." Maybe it's true. But it's a curious detail.

It's not like I was going to molest you. I might have liked to have held you, to have you hold me, to hold each other, as friends, but I wouldn't even have done that because although there was no molesting intention, I'm sure I would have been visibly excited by the thought of holding you, by the act of holding you, of you holding me.

I think now and again that I should call you. But your world is so set, and I'm not sure I want to get caught up in it. I say things I don't want to say, I have feelings I would rather avoid, I can't really be myself, completely myself, while you breeze through everything at the center of your universe.