Empty rooms that echo as I climb the stairs. Empty clothes that drape and fall on empty chairs

I’ve always considered myself a one-woman man. (Actually, that’s usually one more than I can handle ;-) ) But a few nights ago, the idea of polyamory was suggested–by my girl, no less–and, while it doesn’t sound like something I’d be either into or good at, I guess I’ve been giving it some thought. I’m in a relationship that, technically, is probably closer to serious (e.g. by all technical measures, only two clicks away from the big M), further than any to date… so why do I feel so eerily alone?

I was asked by a good friend what it was like, and I had to answer honestly…”pretty much just like being single, except with less closet space.” There are perfectly valid, though currently unobservable, reasons for this, I’m sure. But I guess it’s just not what I was expecting right now. I’m not ready to give up or anything. I remember all of our good times, and furthermore, I don’t give up easily. But the idea of seeing a theoretical someone else on the side (with my gf’s blessing) is starting to sound less evil and cheat-y. (Although in reality, given my statistical dating track record, that would be in 2008.)

I’m not even looking for sex so much–I had my lifetime supply of that a couple years back, and like ice cream, it was good, but you can’t live on that alone–but I’d feel a lot better about a relationship if my partner would actually talk to me once in a while. I kind of knew what I was getting into, at least in an abstract theoretical sense (when you’re with someone very unique, expect to be confused most of the time), and know that, in all likelihood, this is a temporary state, but I can’t help feeling hurt and inept every time. Am I completely screwing up? Did I do something to royally piss her off and she just won’t tell me? Is she just refraining from officially dumping my ass out of fear that if she does, I might kick her out of my house or something? Yeah, I know, if I were smart, I’d hide any such insecurity and act like a complete arrogant jerk so that she’d swoon for me, but that would feel too much like lying, and I’m not a liar. So instead I’ll sit on the oscillatory fencepost between upstairs and downstairs, wondering if I should come down and talk to her, send her an instant message, or none of the above.

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