Withdrawal

Oh, I knew it was gonna come. The craving. You see, I love chocolate. I have a little jar on my desk full of Hershey's kisses. I usually have one or two every day. Sometimes I forget I have them there. But sometimes I just can't stop eating them and finish them off in less than one hour. My name is Javier and I'm a chocoholic. Now, back to the craving. I've been craving you. Didn't I tell you it was gonna come? Well, here it is. I've been close to calling you about seven times today. But I'm holding on pretty well. I know it's useless. After last Wednesday something changed and I'm trying to put my finger on it. Something triggered it: I think it was something that was going on with you that transpired in your attitude when we went to have lunch with your mom. 

 You were a little bit more .... aloof? You were playing the self-possessed teen better than before. And then some. So I decided to exit to the right and give you (me?) some space to think. And I knew for sure you were not going to call. After all, you told me one of your friend-thermometers is them calling you. So you are very seldom the caller. If I don't call you, I'm not interested, therefore I'm not your friend. But I've been wanting to call you, baby boy. Oh, I know you screen your calls and respond according to your whim. Is that what has kept me from calling you? Because I know you'll see my name come up in your little phone -that acts as an ambassador of the people expecting an audience- and I'm not sure if you're going to pick up the call or not. 

 I told you I am interested. You pointed out at my falling too hard too fast. I know that's true. But YOU do not feel the same. Do you? I think this little time will give us time to think a little. You were right in that post where you wrote about not being able to precisely explain how you felt. I'm going through the same. Today I'm going out. Probably to the same places we usually go. We'll have dinner at Bricco's tonight. And then we'll probably go to that bar you took me to. Or the club. Or something. Hopefully, somebody will dance with me. American gay men don't dance. They just stare at everybody and then pretend they are not. But I will probably give in to the craving and will call you. Surely before the play. And by the way, are you practicing your lines? Smooches, babyboy.

XOXO