The hard part, at the moment, about BV’s absence is that it is coming at a time when so much is undefined.

All of my worst paranoid fears are circling in my brain and I am — at every moment — undercutting everything that has happened and re-editing scenes to make them more negative.

Among the reasons I provide excruciating levels of detail about the progression of events is so that I can stop myself from recasting things or reshaping events to suit a different narrative or a new interpretation.

I was there; I know what happened.

You do, too.

I know he loves me. I know I love him.

I am stuck in our city, without him, surrounded by people who know us. All of those people assume he is my boyfriend. When I deny it,  I look like an idiot. When I try to give them context or details, then I feel as though I am betraying my relationship with BV.  And, also, I look like an idiot.  Because no matter what you think or hear, you still assume that he is my boyfriend.  Which he is absolutely not.

The reality is that we love each other — probably more than we intended or should — but we are not committed to each other. While being completely committed to each other.

Which makes zero sense from a logical perspective, and yet feels very accurate from an emotional perspective.

I know, with 100% certainty, that had the Bon Vivant not been preparing to leave, we would not have spent four days and three nights together the weekend after we spent the night together on the road and at his place. I also know that because we spent 4/3 together, we are closer and love each other even more.

Here is where this gets tricky:

We are closer because we spent SO much time together and were so open and loving with each other . . . precisely because he was leaving. If we lacked the pressure of that constantly ticking clock, we would have spent a day, a night and maybe a day or two later another day and night. Had he not been leaving, I doubt he would have asked me to come over Saturday night.

But, I might be completely wrong.

I became his girlfriend for the weekend.

On his last weekend in town, this man — a true bon vivant who has never met a stranger — spent his entire weekend with me.

He played golf with K, his best guy friend who has known him since they were 18 yo college freshmen on the west coast, and they drank themselves silly. Then he called me at 940 pm, which I missed, and bumped into me at the CHB 20 minutes later (!), which is where he knew or believed I would be, as he thinks I am always there.  “His” bars are closer to his building.

That night, he invited me to do an out of town day trip with a couple from his building who he likes enough that he had invited them to do the trip with us the weekend before.  Because of timing issues, I was able to get out of having to go, but his desire was to have me with him and another couple for an entire day.  In fact, our plan without them was to leisurely brunch in a different shopping district, which would have then lead to his hair appointment — all of 30 minutes — and then a long day together.

Which I did not think about at the time.

Instead, we did a quick brunch when he had exactly 45 minutes to pull himself together and get out the door.  And his initial thought was “I am going to grab a smoothie” at the place across the street.  He took me to the place he goes all the time solo and showed me where he hides out, so that he cannot be seen unless you are actually looking for him.

Which I did not think about at the time.

I went home, he went off to day-trip, and when he was heading home from post-day-trip barhopping while I was with C and the Software Developer SD, he asked me to meet him at his place.  Again.  Two nights in a row.

Which I did not think about at the time.

The next morning, after we had sex a couple of times while waking and sleeping, I assumed we’d brunch and then I’d head home and let him get on with his last two days in town.  Except that’s not what happened.  He wanted to go to his favorite place and he wanted me to invite SD, who he really adores, and wanted this to be a party.  Which it was.  We had a blast.  We laughed and then made plans for the afternoon, which then turned into the evening, which then turned into the night, which then turned into his request to help him pack, and then extending and extending and extending until we could extend no more.  He didn’t want me to leave any more than I wanted to leave.

Which I did not think about at the time.

When he is just id, he wants to be with me.  When he wants to be home, he wants to be with me.

And when he’s with me, he wants me to be in his world of bars and stuff and he wants my friends around.

When he has plans with his friends, he wants me there.

I am clearly someone very important in his life.  But, I am not his girlfriend.  I’ve never been his girlfriend.

Even when someone asked if we were dating — as everyone else just assumes we are — he said “no . . . it’s bigger than dating.”  Which it is and it isn’t.  We are dating in the sense that we now go out on dates and we are sexually monogamous and we have made plans to see each other (calendared, even) when he is back.

But, we’re not dating in that he is not here.  He has promised he’ll be in touch, and he’s reached out in small ways that let me know he’s connected to me.  He sent me a drawing through our game when he landed rather than call or text.  Adorable.

But, not dating.

And, yet, he has told his parents about me — about how much he loves me and how beautiful and amazing I am — and he has told them about me enough that he calls me by my full first name, which he never calls me in our life together.  In our life together, he calls me Plan or Planner and introduces me as either.  But his parents know me by my full first name, which feels appropriately formal, rather than my super-preppy and more unusual nickname. It’s also the name on my facebook account, rather than the jauntier name I use socially and on twitter, which means it’s likely he’s shown them photos of me.  His family speaks daily, of course, they know who I am.

FM said something interesting to me last night which says more about FM than about me and the Bon Vivant: he said, “I really like you with [Bon].  You seem really happy together, and you don’t feel the need to be the center of attention when he’s around.”  FM is obsessed with the idea that I suck all of the oxygen out of any room I am in.  And, I sort of do.  At least, I can.

With BV, I don’t.  Or, rather, we share that burden.  We are dynamic and balance each other well.  And we have adventures.

to be continued, as my my world was just rocked by news from BFD.

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