Gnawing at me.

Being home and not able to move has made me read my old diaries. This has brought on a sensation of panic and regret for one unfulfilled relationship in particular: Raoul the artist/musician. It's eating away the back of my mind. It's gnawing at me. The feelings expressed in my diary of that year are so vivid still. His looks at me, my jealousy towards other girls, my wanting him to make his move. The long talks, me sitting at his work, waiting, waiting, waiting. A year of waiting for memories of waiting, nothing more. Not even a touch. a caress a graze a kiss.

I needed to purge. I left a comment on his blog the other night. I probably shouldn't have, he's happy in the relationship he's in. I left it on an old post hoping he wouldn't notice it. But he approves all comments now, I'd forgotten. It was on the post about facebook and how he had opened a can of worms when he signed up. Too much heartache he declares. He says he should have left for europe in 98... (strangely or not, the same year I did) cut off all contacts and he thinks he'd never have opened that can.

He's wrong. He'd have opened it just the same. Just like I did.

I said something that I shouldn't have... something that would have tipped him off that I was thinking about him. I must have spent over an hour and a half on his blog last night, I read every single post in march, and there were 47 or something. I hope I don't go tipping his balance. I don't want that. He is precarious, it would be easy.

There must be something about that age that makes those feelings so strong. Hormones probably.