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  • It's been a messy spilt. Time and again we've found ourselves in each other's beds, willing to take some sort of proxy comfort in each other, but still emotionally circling each other warily. And oddly, this has yielded the best sex we've had in a pair of not-too-shabby careers of sex-having.

    But I've found myself in a position where I want more from her. Again.

    The thing I rejected earlier, the decision I had so soundly reasoned myself into believing was detrimental to my well-being and whatever silly goals I'd had lined up for my life, is now a thing whose absence has now evolved into what seems like a physical presence, something I am constantly catching out of the corner of my eye.
    It's a slow burn, a knot in my stomach, exacerbated by the thought of her in the bed of another, made more pathetic by the certainty that she's both hurt enough and busy enough not to reciprocate.
    She doesn't wonder what I'm up to at a particular moment, doesn't wonder what I'm thinking.
    She doesn't feel a wave of nausea when she knows I'm off with another, seeking relief from the constant self-doubt and the waves of regret.
    A few times now, she's claimed her plan was to break it off cleanly when we see each other, only to fall back into my arms, however briefly.
    I try to explain, to rationalize an irrational decision, to share the revelations that months of introspection have provided.
    To a point, this brings her closer, but at her core there's pain; I put it there. And she can't forget it.

    Our times together are increasingly a search for definition, not really anyone's idea of a good time. And, of course, the more time we spend together that's a chore, the less of a chance there's going to be. She's said she wants to keep things "as they are," which includes her seeing another guy as well, and basically just living on her terms, which I'm not sure I can do.

    I'd love to blame her, and in my low moments I can actually scare up some indignation at the whole thing, changing myself into the wronged party.
    But of course, this denies the truth of things.

    So I'm pulled in different directions. I can feed the hope, and risk the most intense, but this time complete, rejection I can imagine, and in the meantime this dissatisfaction will grow.
    I can feed the split and try harder to kill that feeling inside for her. But she's my friend first and foremost, and I love her; I want her to see how we're the best friend the other has had; the best lover bar none. How our best moments can be ahead of us.
    I try to realize that if reconciliation is going to happen, it's going to be a process; forgiveness isn't something you can do instantly. One can try to commit to it, but the sort of enlightened flash that changes visceral reactions at a stroke is rare indeed.
    In the meantime, I offer and give emotional support with little return and try and convert the physical side into something that mollifies my emotional one.
    But contrition, and the desire to give unconditionally to make amends, is starting to yield to a strong desire for reciprocation.

    I'm uncomfortable with this; "Poor me" is not anything I'm used to feeling and not something I like one fucking bit.
    I'm pretty sure time (if nothing else) will take care of it, but the desire to put a period where there's now an ellipsis is a real one, despite the futility of ultimata, despite the inherent uselessness of trying to talk someone into being in love with you, despite the fact that regardless of what happens, I will always love her, and be in love with her, with the essence of my being.
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