The pillow perspective
It’s a beautiful autumn day.
I found a probably imprudent, tiny insect in my mug of cold tea; I want to believe it was suicidal. I can be so romantic that way.
I have many encounters planned for this week.
It's 4.50 pm and I'm still in bed; it's called brooding.

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A picture emerges:
· She fantasised about me beating people up for her. She fantasised about me going to Law school, become a powerful lawyer and fix injustices . She would have liked me to move over the Atlantic in one short sweeping motion and find my feet and be autonomous and strong. She would have liked me to initiate phone sex and to top her in bed. She commented on how hot other women were. She would have liked me to drive her places, to woo her, to be able of more, to know more. She would have liked me to pretend to boss her around, tell her what to do. She would have liked to look up to her partner.
· How I always felt that I was letting her down! And vowed to myself to try harder!
· It is hard always feeling on trial; it is harrowing always trying to impress, always trying to match someone else’s hopes.
· She liked that I was different, looked different, talked differently, perhaps even thought differently; but then it began to show that my way of being different didn’t fit into what she wanted for herself.
· Why is so difficult to accept the notion that I was loved for who I am not? And why did it take me so long to figure it out?
· It’s not like I don’t know what it is to invest a lover with my own expectations. Projection, anyone?
· Goddamnit, I still can’t shake the belief that it could have worked out. What do I need to quit?
"When someone sees you as you really are and wants to be with you, that's powerful."