I had a dream last night that Christopher found my blog. In my dream, I had logged in at work in the morning and checked my e-mails of blog comments. There in the header of the e-mail was his e-mail address. The comment was complimentary of some post I had written about his father. It literally read, "I like the Q&A you did with my father." But with the big discovery of this hope chest of my wishes and dreams, Christopher refrained from acknowledging and responding.
In my dream, I panicked because Christopher knew every thought I had at every moment in our relationship. He knew that I was questioning if he loved me. My playbook was exposed. And he let me know through this simple comment.
It's made me question if perhaps this blog is causing me some personal injury. With every stilled image in my mind that I photograph in words, I am getting a little more invested in him. I wonder if it's healthy to be doing this three times a week.
In reality, last night I had a wonderful time with Christopher. We met up with M-Joy and had a nice dinner together. M-Joy even gave her approval of him, proving that I am indeed not a bad boyfriend picker outer nor an all around bad judge of character.
Afterwards Christopher and I snuggled on his couch under his childhood blanket. I was high from the evening and was contemplating that maybe I do love him. I even contemplated telling him so. I knew I wasn't ready, so instead I opened my mouth and invited him to Thanksgiving with my mother and me.
And Christopher said something so insensitive that I cried as soon as I got in my car to drive home.
I know Christopher, and I know he has a tendency to say things harsher than he means them. As Breeza commented before, he has no tact. Deep down, I know he didn't mean what he said, but it didn't stop the words from cutting me down and leaving me to question things.
On the teary drive home, I ended up blaming the blog. Maybe I am investing more than he is. Maybe this is the problem with having a blog dedicated to one aspect of my life. I dedicate too much time thinking about him and how to word out the small details of my love life. Maybe I wouldn't feel the same way if I didn't write.
But then I think about how he acted after he said what he did. He brushed my hair out of my eyes. He told me that I looked cute wearing the scarf I knitted last winter. When my face flushed (out of sheer horror over what he said), he held the back of his hand to my face and asked if I was feeling okay. He asked me to spend the night. He held me. Told me my hair smelled good. He tickled his fingers in mine. So I know I'm not romanticizing how he feels about me, because I know he feels about me. I know it like it's real and tangible. It's a truth.
But I'm still left feeling confused.