Though the breakup took place more than 2 years ago, and I spent a good year and a half in therapy trying to understand why I behaved the way I did, I still haven’t completely put The Cowboy out of my mind. I still think of him way more than common sense would dictate. I see him in crowds of people, or rather my heart does. Why after so much time has passed does this man still hold so much power over me?

I was talking with Dennis this weekend, who had gone through an equally hard break-up around the same time, and he’s one of the few people to get it. The Cowboy took a part of me when he left me. He took the trusting, loving, open part of me, the part that believed I would find happiness in this world. The part of me left is untrusting and distant.

I’ve felt lost since that day in September when he told me that he didn’t want to be with me any longer, since that day in December when my false sense of reality finally shattered under the weight of truth allowing the pain to bubble to the surface and force me to face the fact that I was acting like a fool.

Recently, I’ve had the great pleasure of meeting (via blog and tribe) Moby in the San Francisco Bay Area. He’s one of you, my tens of fans. I’m glad to have met him and I love to read his blog and the comments he so generously leaves on mine (unlike you other tens of readers) sharing tidbits of his wit and humor. But this budding friendship is not all roses from where I sit because Moby looks A LOT like The Cowboy. I mean he’s a spitting image, except that he’s way cuter, in much better shape, has better muscle tone and isn’t a complete ass. Other than those little details, they could be brothers. So every time, I visit Moby’s blog, I see a photo of my past and I’m reminded of what I once dared to dream but inevitably would lose.

And then on Sunday night, I got sucked into a remake of one of my favorite television shows of childhood. Battlestar Galactica. I was so enamored of the show that I took the time to allow my budding homosexuality to blossom, and wrote to the star of the show, a very handsome Mr. Dirk Benedict, to ask for a signed photo. I digress.

Sunday night while I was watching the new Battlestar Galactica, the Commander of the fleet (Edward James Olmos) was giving a speech, after the remaining survivors of the tribe of 12 colonies had managed to fight off and escape the Cylons, about their new destination. They would be heading to Earth, to meet up with the mythical 13th tribe.

The new President lady, formerly the Secretary of Education and 54th in the line of power cornered the Commander shortly after demanding to know the truth. “There is no Earth” she said “Earth is a myth and you have no idea if it even exists let alone where it is”.

“You’re right” Edward James Olmos’ character replied, “but humans cannot simply exist, they must have something to live for.”

Those words have been swimming through my head ever since because, and this all does come back to The Cowboy, I’ve only been “existing” since long before we parted ways. In a lot of ways, I’ve only been “existing” since high school when my dreams were trampled and mocked instead of supported and nurtured.

So I need dreams, I need something/someone to live for, and that is what The Cowboy represented to me. Hope. Future. Love. Trust. Dreams. Intimacy. Sex. Protection. Security. And I’m afraid to let someone else have a shot at those parts of me again, because I don’t know if I’m strong enough to lose any more.