No sleep, no love

So I've been having trouble sleeping lately. Not sure why. I don't think it's because I miss him. I know I want to, I want to miss him desperately, so badly that I can hardly think or breathe. Or sleep.

But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I haven't attached myself to this gross notion that I can love someone because I want to, and not because I actually do. I write it, that I love him, (and rather well, if I do say so m'self) because maybe if I put it down on paper it will be real. Maybe, if I tell myself I do, if I write beautiful love letters, I will eventually convince myself that I love him, and I will. And isn't that what I want? To be in love?

But I am a passionate woman, and while I don't expect my partner to be just like me, I do need a man who is passionate about me, too. I told JP that I would need him to call me regularly while he is in Budapest. He does it. That's nice. But I want more than a hello, I ate a meter of sausage today, and I love you before hanging up.

Those words feel empty to me.

When I stay up until 2 or 3 in the morning to call him as he gets his day started, I want him to sound pleased to hear from me, not exasperated. When I send him a sensual photograph (where the power lies in suggestion and not in exposure), I want him to be happily surprised and aroused, not disgusted or disappointed.

He asked me how on earth I was planning on sleeping when he got back into town. I was mildly giddy, as he had just received my photo. He is not gonna let me sleep bc he has missed doing the dirty with me!

Wrong. He chastised me for staying up so late when I know full well that he likes to get to bed early, so when he gets back, if I can't reset my sleeping schedule to complement his, it's going to be a problem.

I get it. There are a lot of wonderful things about him. He accepts me for who I am, and I've always feared that it might be impossible to find someone who would, and so I cling to this ridiculous, precarious trapeze of a relationship and try and try to convince myself that it is love and that all of the things I have never liked about him are tolerable and that if he says he loves me I should try to love him back.

It's that old hat again, in love with being in love. That's me.

I don't think I can keep up the masquerade for much longer. It seems I'm onto me.