The Sonya problem

We had lunch yesterday. I think I already wrote about this but it bears repeating because I need to convince myself—and probably her—that something is wrong with her, not with me.

She asked me directly: "Do you love me?"

I couldn't answer. Not because I don't know the answer—I do—but because saying it out loud makes it real in a way I'm not prepared for.

The truth is I stopped loving her sometime in May. Maybe April. I can't pinpoint the moment because love doesn't end dramatically. It just fades. Like a photograph left in the sun. One day you look at it and realize you've never actually loved this person. You were just performing love convincingly enough that they believed it.

She's not a bad person. She's actually quite good. Intelligent, beautiful, loyal in a way that makes me feel worse about how little I give back. Which is probably why I resent her.

The problem is that I want something else. Someone else. I don't even know who yet—actually, I know exactly who, but I'm not ready to admit it. But the wanting is there, constant, like a hunger I can't feed.

Flavio would say I'm running away. He's probably right. He usually is, though he would never say it in so many words. Flavio is too polite. Too careful with his words. Sometimes I think he should just tell me I'm a bastard and be done with it, but that's not his style. We're both too committed to our polite lies.

I went to the gym this afternoon. Simona was teaching her Pilates class. I stood in the back and watched for a while. She has this way of moving through the studio like she's in her own world. Completely focused. Completely present.

At one point she looked directly at me and her expression didn't change. But something in her eyes shifted. Recognition, maybe. Or warning.

I think I'm going to pursue this. I think I'm going to be a complete bastard and use my relationship with Sonya as a convenient excuse while I figure out if Simona is someone I can actually want instead of just performing with.

I'm not proud of this. But at least I'm being honest about it in this diary. In real life, I'll keep lying.