Is for all this to be just a bad dream.

Is to tell you everything, and have you understand.

Is to stop having to carry my phone around everywhere I go.

Is to stop running to check my phone every time I get out of the shower.

Is to know why I didn't see this coming.

Is to know why you left.

Is to know why I cared for you two seconds after I met you.

Is to stop hurting.

Is to be forgiven.

Is to stop jerking my head up every time someone enters a room.

Is to start over, and walk away.

Is to start over, and stay forever.

Is for people to stop feeling sorry for me.

Is to stop feeling sorry for myself.

Is to know the truth.

Is to kiss you again.

Is to watch you sleep.

Is to stop being afraid of what you can do to me.

Is your undivided attention, the way you've got mine.

Is to turn back time.

Is to make you smile.

Is to look into your eyes, and stroke your hair.

Is to sit on a porch swing and watch our grandkids play.

Is to know why I waited 39 years to meet the love of my life, and it turned out to be you.

Is to come up with a scenario that allows me to spend the rest of my life with you, without one or both of us being miserable.

I went to the bar after work yesterday. I knew you’d still be away at work so I felt safe in going there.

I ordered a pizza to go and had a couple of beers while I waited.

Everything’s strange in the bar at that hour. The place is nearly deserted except for those like me that are too lazy to cook their own dinner. We all sit around in our work clothes (a suit for me) and think about the day’s events and enjoy what for most of us is our first chance to relax since we got up in the morning.

It’s a restrained kind of relaxation though. We still have what’s left of rush hour traffic to deal with. None of our friends are there. We’re pretty much on our own and I think we prefer it that way. Even the bartenders seem subdued. They’ve got to pace themselves. Their busy time is just beginning while ours is over for the day.

As I sat in my usual spot drinking my usual beers I got a little caught up in the moment. I caught myself several times forgetting about the past couple of weeks. Each time someone entered the room, each time I heard a female voice, I’d glance up, hoping for a split second that you’d walk in and take your usual seat beside me.

Then I’d remember.

I’d remember, and it would all come rushing back.

I’d remember that I’m not ready to see you walk through that door. To feel the heat from your body as you sit beside me. To see you smile as you tell me about your day.

I’m not ready for any of it, and I don’t know when or if I’ll ever be.

It’s only been a couple of weeks. I know I have to give this more time. It can only get better.

Unless it gets worse.

Unless the old saying about absence making the heart grow fonder proves to be true. Unless, by distancing myself from you, I fall for you completely.

I tell myself that I got out in time. That I can stem this flow of emotion before it overwhelms me, drowns me. I tell myself that all is not lost yet.

I can no longer completely trust myself though. I told myself for months that I would be safe with you. Though I lived on a ledge, I wasn’t afraid of falling because I thought I was invincible. I was wrong.

Now I tell myself that maybe there’s still hope for us to salvage a friendship, that once this initial onslaught has passed I’ll be able to keep my emotions under control. But I don’t quite want to believe it. For if I believe it and I’m wrong again - I cannot even bear to think about it.

This may be just what I needed.

A place, an anonymous place to vent and rage and whine and cry about how shocking and preposterous this all is.

I can keep my public journal as it has been, a watered-down pussified version of my thoughts, suitable (mostly) for public consumption, while I keep the real me hidden behind this curtain of anonymity.

Hmmm, an anonymous 'blog out here in the Internet for all the world to see. What an age we live in.

I'm strung so tight that were you to pluck me only dogs would hear the sound.

I'm so pissed at my own lack of self-control, at my own sudden vulnerability, at my own humanity that I'm surprised there's room for anything but anger.

But there is room.

Room for emotions much worse than the anger.

Room for longing. For sadness. For grief towards the loss of that which I never even had.

It's all just so absurd. I'm nearly 40 years old. Much too old for childish things like crushes and jealousy and worrying so much about what everyone else is thinking that I forgot to keep an eye on my own thoughts.

This is why I'm anonymous. Because I've become that 20-something kid again, afraid of what could happen if I took a chance. Afraid because of what did happen when I married that whoring slut that took my heart twice and ripped it to shreds.

For over a decade there was no fear. I knew that I'd never allow myself to be vulnerable again. There was nothing to be afraid of. I was the shark attack survivor who'd vowed to never visit the ocean again.

So much for that plan.

This is why I'm here anonymously. Because I forgot. Because I let my heart and my dick overpower my brain. Because I've managed to toss all of my resolve and now I'm right back to being that scared kid again.

Because I'm ashamed.