What we do for love

He wrote, "I'm surprised by there was little personal." I sent him a cleansed version of my evening that night. 

He's away. Far away. I therefore, felt bolder in my statement. "I miss you. Terribly." I wrote back to him, because I knew that he was far away and my declaration of my true emotions would not be interpreted as me wanting to see him immediately. 

He wrote, "Did you and your date fuck?" I felt a punch in my stomach. I realized that he still had a certain power over me. I was not obligated to let him know what I was up to, and he was not entitled to my life. It was not OK for him to be so involved my personal life, but... he did because he could. In that strange world of illusions, he was mine and I was his.

We make excuses for those whom we love and those we don't. If tomorrow all of my lovers disappear I would not feel much, but if he left me I'd be left with an empty hold, an void. 

I asked him to send a photo, from that far away place, where I could feel finally safe enough, distant enough for me to declare my true feelings, my feelings that should not be there, and my feelings that I had determined to bury, to leave behind, but I couldn't, because I did not want to.

I wondered if he felt the same way when I was away, in far east that winter where we were apart for so long, so much distance and time elapsed, until I felt that he no longer wanted me. I wanted him to disappear from my life, so that I could move on, but he did not, I did not, and together we were once again. 

There was something about his eyes. I saw that picture of his and I looked at it, for sometime. I asked him to smile, he had a beautiful smile, but under his own lens, with his own photo, the one he sent me, he was not and he was all serious. I remembered that look. The same hungry look when he was with me, that look of pure desire and lust, that look of passion, that look of "you are mine, and you will always be mine."

I wondered some more, and I felt less inclined to think too much at this point. I thought it would be best to let my thoughts linger, and let my own desire to go unfulfilled.

If there was a perfect life, a perfect future, a perfect world, I would only want to be with him. And in that world he was mine and mine only, and I'd be his, and his only.

But that would be a wishful and self-destructive thinking. In this real world, I remained  pragmatic and grounded. I would remain this way, until the end of the day.