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#191 - i hate late night crying
September 25, 2001 @ 10:48 pm

Sometimes, it bothers me that my husband isn't the man I dreamed I would marry when I was 12. The man to read poetry to me under a tree, shaded from the sunlight.

He's not a poet or an artist or a musician. Not such a big deal.

But sometimes, sometimes the other things can be a big deal. And I hate that.

I don't know what to do about the fact that I'm crying. Crying over something so stupid and trivial, that it would leave him scratching his head at it if I told him. So I just left him in bed, because I don't want to tell him.

I don't want to tell him that I want a man who needs me. Physically and emotionally and spiritually. Who reaches out his hand as often as I reach out mine. I want him to need to breathe me. To be haunted by a remembered flash of my smell while he's at the office. I want his gut instinct to tell him that when I cry, he should hug me. He waits. As if he doesn't know what to do. And then I guess memory kicks in, and then he comes to me. Or sometimes I have to yell at him. Because at that point, when you realize he's not going to hold you, you just want him to leave for being so insensitive.

It's not his fault. He was raised in a family where there wasn't any touching.

But it still hurts. It hurts that we never tried to learn to sleep in each others arms. And when I want to try, he doesn't. Sometimes, I'm relieved, because my last boyfriend insisted on holding me close all night long, and I barely got any sleep like that. But we've never found a happy medium. What's wrong with trying to doze off in each other's arms, or touching, then moving away to actually fall asleep? He can't fall asleep if I'm touching him.

Weird emotions in the house lately. Money and shit. I want to talk with him about it, but I don't. I see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, know that he would tell me if it was good news. And obviously he doesn't want to talk about it. But I need to hear it.

But hearing it makes me needy. I wanted to have sex. He mentioned being tired again. I didn't say anything. Wanting sex, then feeling needy, I laid there, wondering how to not feel horrible. I finally said fuck it, and rolled into his arms. I laid there, feeling content. He even picked up my hair to smell it. I let myself imagine that he really needed me, to the core. That he would whisper something endearing about my scent. Cup my breast. Kiss my head. Say he loved me. Pull me closer. Anything.

Then he removed his arm from my waist. The other arm I had trapped under me, so he didn't fight me. But the moment was shattered. I quickly went to turn out the lights so he wouldn't know I was going to cry.

He still doesn't know. I'm out here wondering what's wrong with me. I love him so much. He's so important to me. So perfect. And yet not. I always say he's perfect for me. But yet, he's nothing I imagined. I don't want to change him. He's incredible. I just wish he needed me sometimes.

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