I am married to non-monogamy.

And I am so, so uncomfortable about the potential of being replaced, cast aside, left alone.  I am so scared that sacred moments will be shared in other ways.  I am greedy for the time my loves spend with others.  I want it.

I have two partners. I left them both in D.C.  I chose to go out on my own.

I must be a pretty frustrating person to love.

Both of my loves are spending time with new people.  I am not.

Here in wild, queer Berlin, I haven’t met anyone who strikes my fancy. I see people, but I haven’t met them.

These two amazing people I love, however, have both been busy.  Others have noticed they are amazing.

Others are in the spaces my body has been, was, am afraid to hope will be again.

I feel so much more alone when these two individuals aren’t sharing with me the feeling of missing an us.  I am terrified.

The fortieth day is my loneliest day, brought on by their back to back dates (neither of their firsts, by the way).

I am beyond uncomfortable.  I wonder how I can stand it.  I wonder what I’m doing now that I’ve so idiotically put myself here.  What is wrong with me, I wonder.  What have I done to myself?

I am free.

So is he.

So is she.

And we are all amazing.  We each deserve the world.

The price I pay for this freedom–this knowing that my loves will live the lives of their dreams and I will not hold them back, nor the other way around–for this freedom I pay the price of discomfort.

They will answer when I call.  They will remind me of our love.  It will be untouched, the same love, unadulterated by the living of life.  I will ask for, and I will receive, all the reassurances I need.

I will be uncomfortable for longer than I’m comfortable with, but we will all be unrestrained.  Liberated from invisible bonds of possession, one to another.  We belong together, but not to each other.

I love them so much.  I am quite scared.  I remain uncomfortable.  These are the prices of freedom which I will gladly, repeatedly, always pay.

It becomes a housecleaning project of the brain.  I go through this again and again.  The house doesn’t only need to be cleaned once, or even just twice, but regularly.  Jealousy is like this.

This work, I hate it.  I could wallow in my egotistical slouch all fucking day and forget the cleaning I have to do.  Who cares, if I’m alone anyway.  Self-pity is a satisfying loop.  I regularly hang out there when I get new information, just to digest.

In the end I will have to be uncomfortable for at least a while.  Instead of letting it all build up until dust bunnies of desire are stuck in all the cracks.  The grime of unanswered questions like a film I could scrape with my fingernails.  The cobwebs of unspoken needs all strung about around my skull catching all the positive thoughts where they should have been flying free.

I will clean.  And I will be happy I did.

Because freedom is all I want, and need.  For my thoughts, my heart, my body.  And for my loves, their hearts, their bodies.

Truly, I want this for the world.