Waking up alone is nothing new.
It’s morning and I’m looking forward to quiet. It’s Halloween and I am partied out.
There is a small house party tonight I am considering going to, but only if another friend or two has planned on going.
I’m comfortable with my need for alone time now. When I recharge this way, I feel like I can be more in control. Whatever that means.
Right now, I can’t imagine sharing the mornings like this with anyone. There are no demands for my attention or time. No stories to listen to. I can sit quietly and breathe before getting ready for work.
When I lived with my partner, morning was one of the few times I got to be alone. Although he never asked it of me, I always felt like I had to be “on,” ready for whatever the day would bring and ready to be present in our conversations. But I often felt I unheard, even though I didn’t offer up much about myself by way of making conversation.
I felt alone a lot in that relationship, and am much happier now that I am actually alone.
But I am mourning.
I feel like there is so much catching up to do in my queerness. Although I am open about my sexuality and desires, I really don’t have much experience with dating or even sex.
I can almost remember each time I danced with someone who wasn’t a cis-man. It’s new to me and it’s wonderful. The lack of fear, the want to be closer and closer. I asked a friend recently about grinding on the dance floor. In all my late-in-life-Lesbian glory I asked her,
“Are people like, sort of just scissoring? Are they horny? Are they cumming?”
She smiled.
“Sometimes, yeah.”
To me that sounds like a miracle. My wants and desires are so specific now that I’ve come out as a Lesbian, and I feel myself trying to clutch at opportunities to fulfill them. Like I’m an adolescent all over again.
Dancing with friends is nice: our legs tangled while we smile at eachother. My hands still feel lost in wonder at the softness of bodies that don’t belong to men. I realized recently that I’ve never danced that way with someone I’m actually dating. (I think) Have yet to be out together and lost in music in the middle of it all.
I’ve yet to have a long-term, queer relationship in which I’m in love with the other person. If my last loving relationship could have felt that wonderful, the next one may completely undo me.
I am ready to be wrecked in that way. To feel that someone is my person. That someone wants to stay.
I don’t know fully what that looks like or who that would be with.
But I hope that there is so much dancing.
