They really aren't going away.
The weird thing is that they're happening now. They didn't happen when I broke up with him, or for the following year and a half whilst I was with Martin (maybe once or twice, but nothing like this). I got home and BOOM, my head let something through that it had been holding back for so long. And all summer I had these dreams, and I'd tell Ben, and he'd laugh, and I'd tell Henry, and he'd tell me I wasn't over Whall. How do you know when you're 'over' someone, though? Because I have gotten used to life without him in it, I just miss him. But maybe I never had a chance to get 'over' him, so, maybe I'm not? I don't know. It's very confusing.
Anyway, summer ended, uni mark 2 began, and now, in my penultimate month of my taught masters (officially finish in September, but lessons end before Easter) I still have these dreams. Sometimes he's the main character, I'm there, he's there... sometimes it's awkward, sometimes he smiles, a couple times we get back together, one time we never broke up; recently he was being friendly, and we were discussing our lives post-break-up; I never expect him to be there, yet he always is, sometimes just in the background with Dukie, sometimes as the first person I meet in a dream. He's this constant face, this desperate grasp of my brain to not forget what he looks like, how his voice sounds, the smell of his aftershave, of his clothes, the way he walks, the way he laughs, the way I feel when I look at him: his eyes, his stare back at me, always with a slight smile in his eyes, so I knew when he was pissing around, or the sense that whatever it was he was looking at, or he saw in me, that he truly did love it. Maybe my head just wants that again: to see the love in someone's eyes.
My sadistic memory won't leave me alone. Most days I can wake up and get on with life and not think about these things. Not dwell on how I've broken so many hearts, pushed guys away, or just run away. Not dwell on what might have been if things had been different. Not wonder what that person is doing now, if they're better off without me, or if we truly are destined to be together, and therefore I should just wait for fate to bring us together again. Not consider how that person may feel about me, now, after two and half years. Are they still mad? Are they indifferent?
Most days I can wake up and get on with life; when I've had a dream about an ex-boyfriend, my whole day starts spinning. Its hard to grasp any reality when your head is living in the past.
There is only one thing that I can figure out: these dreams won't just go away. My dreams are constant, they do tell me things, and they only stop when things are resolved. So I need to resolve things; I need to see him. But he won't. He refuses to even acknowledge my existence, let alone be in the same room as me for long enough to hear that he hates my guts, or whatever it is that he might say to me.
So, in the cruel contradiction, I will forever be tortured by my own memory of the man I thought I'd end up marrying until I broke up with him because I was falling in love with someone else. I never had that with anyone else though: as much as I loved them, and hoped things for the future, I could never actually visualize the house, the garden, the children and the pet dog. I saw my future with Whall, and it terrified me. And now I'm forced to re-live that decision on an almost weekly basis.
I want to go all eternal-sunshine on my memory.
I want someone else to think about, so my dreams may be surpressed.
I want to fall in love again. As great as it is to know that there are a few guys who would happily be Number Sixteen (Coates being the obvious one), I don't just want a number sixteen. I want number sixteen to be the last one.
I really don't want to hit the twenties, basically. Moral of the story, I'm scared of being a big ho-bag.
I also really miss the two people who were my best friends in the whole world this time last year. I haven't seen either of them in a while and it upsets me. I haven't spoken to one of them in a while because I don't really know what to say to them. This blog entry has become a complete mish-mash of thoughts. I suppose it is a good representation of my head, at least.
Bastille: Flaws; Pompeii; Bad Blood. It's my new groove.
Also, the title refers not to the original by U2, but the cover by the first man I 'loved' (if you can call weird obsession and adoration love?):