I seem to write when I'm sad, now. And today, I'm sad. In the sake of knowing myself better, in the sake of being in closer touch with what is real, in the sake of creating real friendship, in the sake of working with what I have rather than what I wish I had, I've had to give up a fantasy.

I don't think anyone likes doing this. I used to wonder how people could get so lost in their own little worlds that they refused to notice what other people were really doing and saying. But I think I understand the sentiment now. It's so cold and alone out here without that paean of warmth coming from that nice little fantasy.

What happened was a few nights ago I had a very sweet dream, just a little erotic, about a guy I know. It's a guy I've daydreamed mildly about before, whose company is extremely pleasant, who seems like he'd be fun in bed or as any sort of intimate. I've analysed the possibilities, like I do with most people I find interesting, and came to such a conclusion irrespective of whether or not I'd be able to do anything about it. Sure, I don't expect to do anything about it. I'm happy with the relationship I've got. But the fantasy is that maybe once I might do something, and it'd be all the things I hoped. Then I had this dream. The next time I saw him (at a social occasion), I had to remind myself that it was only a dream. He doesn't know anything about what happened between us that night, because he wasn't there. This thought makes me very lonely. When the social occasion finished, and everyone went home, I wished I could do more than say goodbye. It was a futile wish, so instead I wished I could find a corner and sob for the loss. Also a relatively futile wish, but at least it was in the realm of possible reality.

However, as the next few days passed, I found myself returning to the dream. It was a small comfort in a sad time, that I needed, and the glow it left has lasted. That alone makes it worth it. I found myself wondering repeatedly if maybe I could make real what I dreamt. This is where I ended up having to face the facts. I couldn't make it real, because I can't function in an erotic manner with someone other than my partner. That's just the way it has always been. I don't normally worry about it with fantasies, because I know they're just fiction. But this time, I had to face myself wanting fiction to be truth. Which meant facing a larger fact - that I wanted it to be truth because I'd lost erotic function to a degree so severe I couldn't even function with my partner. When that happens, the idea of physical constraints on loyalty vanishes. It's just too small a thing - when you so desperately want to believe that you can get function back somehow, caring about who it comes back with is minor.

I also had to face another aspect of reality though. Which is, the very simple point that it takes two to tango, so to speak. Being able to restore my erotic function through having some fun with a particular person, while a possible reality, wouldn't be any use unless they were also interested in having fun and making the idea reality. And, the current reality is, that I have no idea if this guy would ever actually be that interested in me. I have no way of knowing, unless I get to know him better on an emotional level. I'm catching myself substituting what's hoped for for what's real. It's an aspect of fantasy that has to be challenged if you want truth and openness in a friendship. And, to be quite honest, why would I want to burden a possible great friendship with sexual overtones that will (speaking from a practical point of view) always be unfulfilled?

So I weep for my fantasy, a piece of optimism in darkness when hope is otherwise lost, but I guess I let it go and seek answers in what is possible and real. It's cold out here.