I am depressed. Not in the bad I-want-to-kill-myself-and-get-this-over-with way that I was when I first got here, but a depression all the same.
Part of it is because of Matt. I started to write an entry last night explaining all of the backstory of this whole deal regarding him, but I just got frustrated halfway through and gave up. Maybe now I'll try again.
Before I moved here, IE, while still in Florida, I came across somebody who told me if I wanted to do music in New York, I needed to get in touch with this guy named Matt Katz. He threw a website at me with this guy's music on it. I listened to a few of the songs, and I was immediately impressed.
So I got in touch with him, and we talked for a while, and all the while I started to like him more and more. Because he's funny and smart, and fucking brilliant. But what I liked the most was the fact that he really didn't realize just how incredible he was. There was more talent in him than all of the shit playing on the radio combined. To be quite honest, a rather large crush was developing. And I knew it would be a bad idea. I just knew it.
So I finally got to meet him Sunday. He invited me out with his cousin and her friends, because they were going to go shopping in SoHo. After they shopped we went out and got lunch, which he paid for without hesitation, and then around 4:30 they left, leaving him and me alone. So he invited me back to his house, because I wanted him to play on the piano for me. We ambled back to where he lived, which was also with his father and step-mother and their kids. So, the first time I met him I also met his family. Heh.
They left soon after, too, so I made him go get on the piano. And while I was impressed from hearing his recordings, nothing prepared me for seeing it live. And when he started singing… lord. As I told him at one point, "you're going to make acres of straight thirteen year old girls seriously upset when they find out you like boys."
But he made me play too, which I didn't really want to do because he was so much better than me. But he made me do it anyway. And I played, and he liked it, and he said he was impressed with me too. And I looked at him when he said it, and I knew he meant it. And that made the difference. He wasn't bullshitting me. He thought I had talent as much as I know he does.
So he played one more song for me on the piano. My Skin, the Natalie Merchant song I just posted. And it made me start sobbing, because his version was even more heart-rending than the original. He asked me if I wanted to hear the cd. I said sure.
So we went back up to his room and he put on the cd. I sat on the bed. He sat next to me. As the cd progressed, we went from sitting to lying to cuddling up against each other. And then the song came on. And I listened to it, and it hit me strongly. I turned to look at him and we made eye-contact, and it was the same way that they do it in those stupid movies; the gaze was some electric spark of communication between us. And he leaned over and kissed me.
The Ex-Roommate and I talked once about the differences between sex. There was fucking, which was so physical and passionate that you wanted to claw your way into the other person because you wanted them so badly, but there was no emotional basis for it at all. You didn't love them, probably didn't even like them. But you wanted them.
Then there was sex, which was more meaningful than fucking, but still lacking in that regard. And finally there was the one that neither of us had ever experienced: making love. I've always hated that phrase. I've always thought it was the stupidest, most cliched thing to say in the world. But it fits. Because it's a kindof sex that transcends the physical and the emotional, bringing those who're lucky enough to care about each other to the point where they intertwine and twist and wrap themselves around each other in both the body and spirit.
It sounds nice. Idealistic, maybe. But if I had to make a wager, I'd say that when Matt kissed me, it was very much a making love kindof kiss.
And that's what's made me so sad. Because almost immediately after he'd done it, he pulled away, went into himself. Because I think he was terrified. Maybe he kissed me and he knew how I felt. Maybe he realized he felt the same way. I don't know. But I look at him and I see a deep kind of pain in him. That I don't really know where it came from. But because of it he's afraid of connecting to another person beyond the superficial friend level.
And now I can't stop thinking about him, or what he did, and I'm not understanding any of it. I don't really think I've liked somebody this much since Kent. And maybe not even since then, because Kent was always withdrawn and distant from me. There wasn't a moment where he and I connected and for just the briefest of moments I had a direct line right to the centre of him, past all the shielding and armour. But Matt and I had that moment, and I think that frightened him.
So I'm agonizing, because you've no idea how tired I am of dealing with boys who for whatever reason or other refuse to attempt a relationship or give themselves fully to it. And I'm agonizing because I want to run over to his house and grab him and hold him and tell him that he's gonna be all right and that I care about him, but I know if I did something like that I'd have the same effect as yelling at a caged rabbit. If I want to get anywhere with him, I need to back so far off he doesn't even realize how I feel. And I wonder if I can do that.
I know I have to, at the risk of losing him. But I don't know if I can.
And that's what's scaring me.
And somehow in the midst of all of this, I go from sleeping with someone new almost every other day to completely losing interest in sex whatsoever with anyone else. I can't even muster up desire for anything in someone else, and that's frightening. I've never had that reaction to another guy I liked. Sigh. I need medication.
19 February 2003 at 6:00 pm | No Comments »
introspection
