u/Smooth_Suggestion189

I have had such a hard time admitting the truth to myself: that I am nothing to you, scarcely even a friend, and that I have built you into a symbol of a life not chosen. I have been unhappy for so long and so I looked forward to seeing your craggy face and hearing your bark of a laugh at conferences. I felt a strange devotion to you, and a kinship to your vulnerability masked by jokes.

When I was younger, it used to feel like I had a magical elixir that could make a crush fall for me if I just touched his arm the right way or flirted enough. But, I think the magic I imagined was just youth and maybe a promise of sex that seemed more exciting to a proposed paramour when I was 27 than it does now that I am 47. But 47 remains all desire and a deep need to make out with you in a secret garden or hold your buttery hand in the movie theater. Your feelings are opaque to me and maybe it is all for the best. I was looking forward to seeing you, maybe to touching you, and you seem to have retreated from me entirely. Time for me to romance myself instead, I guess; how boring, but true to form it is for both of us.

I have had such a hard time admitting the truth to myself: that I am nothing to you, scarcely even a friend, and that I have built you into a symbol of a life not chosen. I have been unhappy for so long and so I looked forward to seeing your craggy face and hearing your bark of a laugh at conferences. I felt a strange devotion to you, and a kinship to your vulnerability masked by jokes.

When I was younger, it used to feel like I had a magical elixir that could make a crush fall for me if I just touched his arm the right way or flirted enough. But, I think the magic I imagined was just youth and maybe a promise of sex that seemed more exciting to a proposed paramour when I was 27 than it does now that I am 47. But 47 remains all desire and a deep need to make out with you in a secret garden or hold your buttery hand in the movie theater. Your feelings are opaque to me and maybe it is all for the best. I was looking forward to seeing you, maybe to touching you, and you seem to have retreated from me entirely. Time for me to romance myself instead, I guess; how boring, but true to form it is for both of us.

I have had such a hard time admitting the truth to myself: that I am nothing to you, scarcely even a friend, and that I have built you into a symbol of a life not chosen. I have been unhappy for so long and so I looked forward to seeing your craggy face and hearing your bark of a laugh at conferences. I felt a strange devotion to you, and a kinship to your vulnerability masked by jokes.

When I was younger, it used to feel like I had a magical elixir that could make a crush fall for me if I just touched his arm the right way or flirted enough. But, I think the magic I imagined was just youth and maybe a promise of sex that seemed more exciting to a proposed paramour when I was 27 than it does now that I am 47. But 47 remains all desire and a deep need to make out with you in a secret garden or hold your buttery hand in the movie theater. Your feelings are opaque to me and maybe it is all for the best. I was looking forward to seeing you, maybe to touching you, and you seem to have retreated from me entirely. Time for me to romance myself instead, I guess; how boring, but true to form it is for both of us.

I have been limerent for someone on and off for a couple of years. I don’t know that I have been limerent alll my life, but I think I have always used daydreaming and dissociation to deal with difficult issues and as an outlet for frustrated creativity/ passion. I have a long-term partner with whom I have a very complicated, ambivalent, and often-stressful relationship. I care deeply about him and we have children together, but he struggles mightily with his mental health and I grew up in a similar situation and it has taken a lot out of me. I don’t know if we can make it, but I also don’t know if either of us can bear to leave. I also lost a former romantic partner to illness very young and just generally feel so sad and depleted at the thought that maybe I am not cut out for love.

Cue a man with whom I am casually friendly and see a couple times a year at conferences: my pheromones and probably some much more dysfunctional part of my psyche are wildly drawn to him. I want desperately for him to want me, to make me feel that someone wants me, that I am still wantable. I want to kiss someone without pain and ambivalence. I feel like we are perfectly friendly but nothing more on his end. When I was younger (and maybe more conventionally attractive?), I feel I could have pushed things into a flirtation, but, now, it just feels like another frustrating and humiliating reminder of my stuckness. I guess I know why—I am looking for someone to provide me with joy and sex and validation and transcendence in a life that offers little of any of the above—but I don’t think he is interested and I have never cheated on my partner either. I just want someone to want me. I just want to live in that tense moment before a kiss for a year or two.

I would rather die than say something to him about it and be let down “easily.” I should probably go completely NC with him (and maybe he can sense my crush because he is already seeming to pull away from our friendship; quel embarrassing!), but I don’t want to and I also think it will seem insane if I start ignoring him since we have not had any obvious negative experiences and work together on a project. I mentioned pulling out of the project bc of having too much work and he was very upset and said he had to convince me not to (insert: my mustache twirl here…I guess I should have said that I could think of a way he could convince me.). I don’t know what I am looking for exactly, and maybe the fact that I am in a committed relationship and have these middle school style feelings means I am just evil and gross. I have not done anything about them and I probably never wil.

But, still, I wanted to tell you, dear reader—so someone could relate and maybe tell me what to do with all this libidinous emotional and sexual energy that I desperately want to splash all over this random cute, funny, smart guy who (I fear) either sees me, if he sees me at all, as a pleasant de-sexualized friend or, even worse, as a sad perimenopausal woman with a crush for whom he might feel pity or disgust. I have friends, I have a career, I have hobbies, I have a beloved child. My life does not feel empty; it just feels empty of sexy fun flirtation and I miss it so much. Anyone else relate or find limerence growing with perimenopause and/ or a complicated long-term relationship? Does it have to do with aging? Does it mean I have to face reality and end my relationship no matter what happens? Does it get better? I bet if I told him I would break my limerence, but then I would have to hide in a cave for the rest of my life, which would be inconvenient…Couldn’t he just tell me I am totally irresistible and he wants me and we could feel tortured and do nothing about it? I am so tired of my own obsessional brain, which has brought me nothing but trouble for most of my days. Thanks for listening and for your relatable stories.

Dear You, I am leaving for the conference now and I feel like you are avoiding me, but I think it is just that you are (a bit) more normal than me and not desperate to live in dissociative fugue state where you make out with your cute, craggy-faced friend in a hot tub or a blitzed-out old church while vines wrap around you to make your own secret garden. For whatever foolhardy reason—and it is really foolhardy—you have set up shop in my mind, taking up a prime piece of real estate that my aging brain can’t afford to lend out to a casual renter. Do I inhabit a place in your world? Do you want to hold my buttery popcorn-ed hand at a movie? Should we talk about things we would allow ourselves to do to/ with each other if we were different people? Or—as I suspect—is it time to let this go?

Dear You, I am leaving for the conference now and I feel like you are avoiding me, but I think it is just that you are (a bit) more normal than me and not desperate to live in dissociative fugue state where you make out with your cute, craggy-faced friend in a hot tub or a blitzed-out old church while vines wrap around you to make your own secret garden. For whatever foolhardy reason—and it is really foolhardy—you have set up shop in my mind, taking up a prime piece of real estate that my aging brain can’t afford to lend out to a casual renter. Do I inhabit a place in your world? Do you want to hold my buttery popcorn-ed hand at a movie? Should we talk about things we would allow ourselves to do to/ with each other if we were different people? Or—as I suspect—is it time to let this go?

I have had a bizarre crush on you over the past year or so, and I still feel very drawn to your craggy face and dark humor and kinky vibe. I feel a magnet pulling at me towards you, but, more and more, I think that we are both the same poles on the magnet and we should/ could/ would repel each other. I was looking forward to seeing you at the conference, but I think my crush is one-sided and about my own maladaptive daydreaming that has carried me through so much unhappiness over the years. I think you were probably never very interested beyond the most basic friendship and I have used you as a medium for my frustration, creative, sexual, and otherwise. It is time for me to give you up and whatever it is you represent to me. I still kind of wish we had made out, so I had something more material to regret, but I need to move on and turn this feral gaze back on myself, where it belongs. What will I do in the ruined old church now? Who will warm my hotel bed? What point is a hot tub with no one doing bad things in it? What do I do with all the desire I have stored up until it is overflowing my brain, like a faucet left on while everyone left the house? I will have to find these answers for myself and I hate it.

So, what are we going to do at the conference in July? I will be available to make out and go to the movies and drink whiskey in grottoes, secret gardens, and dark punk bars. What about you? Not looking for love, but trust, play, friendship, and gentle biting might be nice. The world is on its last legs, so why don’t we enjoy this bit of time together before reality descends? Give me a sign if you are interested, my friend. —Medusa

So, what are we going to do at the conference in July? I will be available to make out and go to the movies and drink whiskey in grottoes, secret gardens, and dark punk bars. What about you? Not looking for love, but trust, play, friendship, and gentle biting might be nice. The world is on its last legs, so why don’t we enjoy this bit of time together before reality descends? Give me a sign if you are interested, my friend.

I will be single and free when I see you. I don’t think you like me in the way I like you, but, if you do, let me know. I am available to make out in a bombed out church or a dark bar or a secret garden. What do you think?

I will be available when I see you. I don’t think you like me in the way I like you, but, if you do, let me know. I am available to make out in a bombed out church or a dark bar or a secret garden. What do you think?

I really do not know what we are to each other. Acquaintances? Lower case friends? For me: a potent elsewhere to pose against the difficulties of the real? I am drawn to you in ways I want to explore when we see each other, again. Maybe just in words to start since words are where we are both most comfortable? I would love to hear you say what you feel, what you desire, even if we never do anything about it. Like Lucy Dacus sings in the gorgeous “Ankles,” “What if we don’t touch? What if we only talk about what we want but cannot have?…” Do you want to talk to me? To touch me?

I really do not know what we are to each other. Acquaintances? Lower case friends? For me: a potent elsewhere to pose against the difficulties of the real? I am drawn to you in ways I want to explore when we see each other, again. Maybe just in words to start since words are where we are both most comfortable? I would love to hear you say what you feel, what you desire, even if we never do anything about it. Like Lucy Dacus sings in the gorgeous “Ankles,” “What if we don’t touch? What if we only talk about what we want but cannot have?…” Do you want to talk to me? To touch me?

So, what do you want to do to convince me to stay this summsr at rhe conference? I like the idea of you working to convince me with your mouth and your hands. I am surrounded by people but I am lonely and want to touch you. Not sure why but I find you beautiful and tender and masculine all at once. --yours, unfortunately for both of us, J

Dear you, Why is it hard for me not to touch you when we meet? I want to tug on your hair and bite your lip. Do you ever have the same feeling or is it all in my head? J.

Dear you, Why is it hard for me not to touch you when we meet? I want to tug on your hair and bite your lip. Do you ever have the same feeling or is it all in my head? J.

You said that you would try to convince me to stay on and continue working together when next we meet at the conference. How do you plan on convincing me?

I am a bit bossy so I can help you plan it. I want a dark bar and a too-tight corner, just a little bit of liquor to loosen our inhibitions. I want you to seem awkward and vulnerable--unlike your usual blaring self--and to gently tickle my palm across the table as we speak. I want the air to be so thick with unexpressed desire that we could choke on it. Our legs meet beneath the table, an accident or maybe not. We touch each other's faces just a little bit, kiss like teenagers, with more ardor than skill, glasses clacking together and tongues touching for electric seconds. Groan into my mouth and maybe you can convince me. Wrap your fingers into my hair and tug and maybe you can convince me.

Show and tell. Your desires in exchange for mine. What do you think, my friend? Deal?

You said that you would try to convince me to stay on and continue working together when next we meet at the conference. How do you plan on convincing me?

I am a bit bossy so I can help you plan it. I want a dark bar and a too-tight corner, just a little bit of liquor to loosen our inhibitions. I want you to seem awkward and vulnerable--unlike your usual blaring self--and to gently tickle my palm across the table as we speak. I want the air to be so thick with unexpressed desire that we could choke on it. Our legs meet beneath the table, an accident or maybe not. We touch each other's faces just a little bit, kiss like teenagers, with more ardor than skill, glasses clacking together and tongues touching for electric seconds. Groan into my mouth and maybe you can convince me. Wrap your fingers into my hair and tug and maybe you can convince me.

Show and tell. Your desires in exchange for mine. What do you think, my friend? Deal?

You said that you would try to convince me to stay on and continue working together when next we meet at the conference. How do you plan on convincing me?

I am a bit bossy so I can help you plan it. I want a dark bar and a too-tight corner, just a little bit of liquor to loosen our inhibitions. I want you to seem awkward and vulnerable--unlike your usual blaring self--and to gently tickle my palm across the table as we speak. I want the air to be so thick with unexpressed desire that we could choke on it. Our legs meet beneath the table, an accident or maybe not. We touch each other's faces just a little bit, kiss like teenagers, with more ardor than skill, glasses clacking together and tongues touching for electric seconds. Groan into my mouth and maybe you can convince me. Wrap your fingers into my hair and tug and maybe you can convince me.

Show and tell. Your desires in exchange for mine. What do you think, my friend? Deal?