Dear Jake,

God, not being able to have a conversation with you when I want is killing me. Every minute another of your contradictions comes to mind.

From the man who couldn't keep his hands off me even before we were together comes the pronouncement that you never wanted me to touch you. That every time I touched you was like a terrible shock, a bad memory.

But then I recall the multitude of times you insisted I touch you, lay against you, entwined together. How I would move on occasion and you would pursue and protest. The infamous line, why aren't you loving on me more? How many times did you question me moving away. How many times did you pull me to you? Not just sexually, but to have me near you, just to hold.

Again, you're rewriting and whitewashing and diminishing our relationship. I wonder if you really have convinced yourself that the things you tell me now are true and always were. But they weren't. I may have nothing but the memories as proof, but I know it's true, and I don't know how to make you remember or admit.

I have so much to say that can't be said. I don't know what to do with it all. I have no where to put it. I started writing it down here, but it's not the same. Damn it Jake, I don't know what to do with myself.