Vulnerablity

While in the hospital, I thought a lot, cried a lot and just sort of sunk into a funk. I was in a lot of pain and the recovery period was longer than expected. I just drafted. I wanted to cry. Lately I have found myself crying a lot.

I think I push people away. I deny myself happiness and pleasure. I refuse to think that I could have them all. I push everyone away. Some wanted to stay with me so they do, they stay but they don't know how to make sense of me. They tend to have this really bizarre thinking about me.

C called while I was in the hospital and again tonight.

EB, aka Errand Boy often talk to me daily, and I don't want that to happen so much. I need breathing room.

Those were hovering during the last two days.

But really the only person I miss, the only person I love is B.

I can't imagine a world without B. I can't imagine not loving him, wanting to be with him and change my world for him.

I'm drowning my sorrow with the lack of definitively future with B.

I want him and only him. He's the reason of my being.

Yet I can't imagine that our lives ever would change. He would change for me.

So I would find a spot, for instance, in the hospital and just cry and cry.

I miss him more than he would ever know.

I love him more than anything else in the world.

But in reality, I must learn to distract myself, work, and be with my children and just be really not think about it.

The ship has sailed. I could no longer find happiness in my existing world. If my happiness is to be with him, I don't know how to get there, and my sorrow followed me.  Permanent sorrow. Permanent doubt. Thinking... Tomorrow is another day. I must learn to be tough, to be not vulnerable, to be incredibly determined that I shall be OK.

Heart breaker

As if daily phone call not enough, he has started to planning our days together. Each and every day involving something about seeing me. I don't generally despise it but he seems to be without any back bone, everything is about me. Putting me in front of anything, anyone. He's popular, there are screaming kids who adore and worship him. He's cute, a hipster, a very quintessential young kid who's gotten well advanced for his age. But he is not aware of his star power.

Not yet.

He's become so involved in my life, and so in tune with everything that I do, he pleases me to no extend, and he does everything that he can to put me in the center of everything.

I know his type. I am really good at crushing his type.

I don't know how to slow him down. He is having a huge uninvited, self made crush on me. Everything is about me. Every little thing is about me. I can't handle it. I find it tedious. Boring, I find that he is suffocating me.

Every day he wants to do something with me. Every evening he wants to be with me. I can't do that. I have grown up stuff to deal with.

He wants me to be in his life and he's seriously falling for me.

I don't want to take advantage of him. I just want to be left alone. I don't know how to do that without breaking his heart.

This is a nightmare.

One moment I am enjoying the attention and being put on a pedestal, the other moment I have to tell someone that I can't see them anyway, even as a platonic friend. I don't think that's what he wants and I can't be anything more.

This is crazy.

How do I break someone's heart? I hate doing that. But that's inevitable. I have to.

Walking, wounded

Boy asked, “Why, why are you here? Why?”

Woman looked bored, “Why not? You bring me pleasure.”

Boy laughed, genuinely, “Yes, we’ve only just met. It’s as good as any.”

Boy tried to sound deep, “I’ve not felt this way ever since I was with my ex. I couldn’t help it. I am afraid that I’m obsessed with you.”

Woman looked at the ceiling, her usual bored monotone kicked in, “Don’t get obsessed. No one deserves to be obsessed over. This shall pass.” Women wanted to comfort the boy.

Boy would not give up. “When was it the last time you laid on the bed and talked for three and half hours with anyone?” He asked.

Woman was taken aback by his comment, she thought deep and hard, she had a horrible memory, she barely remembered how she met this boy and ended up striking this connection. “I supposed that would be years ago. I had often just fucked and fallen asleep after, or I got up and just left.”

Boy was finding his assessment to be of merits, so he advanced, “This is a relationship, whatever form it is, this is a relationship. You can’t deny science. We have chemistry. You like me. More than you let on.” Boy stared at the woman’s face. His green eyes no longer masked by his glasses, which he had taken off and set aside, like the woman’s lover often did. He stared at the woman’s face, and he started to shake his head.

"Is everything alright? What’s wrong?" Woman asked the boy. She had appeared to be far away and lost in thoughts, now she was concerned.

Boy held the woman, and said, “You really don’t know, do you? You are so pretty. I want you.”

Woman was dumbfounded. “Why? I could be as old as your mother.”

Boy started to laugh. Boy had a very young voice. He was only out of college for two years. He was new to this world that the woman had inhabited for years.

"You are very pretty. When I first met you, I thought you were my age. I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t even pretend that I was only half interested. I can’t play games with you. I just want to spend as much time as you want to spend with me. I want to wait for you. I can’t believe this." Boy was shocked by his honestly, moreover, boy was shocked by how little his words affected the woman, this older, mature, mysterious woman who was so captivating and mesmerizing to him, that all he could do was to follow her order and do the things she commended him to do. She was calm, unimpressed with the compliments he paid to her. She was genuinely unaware of her affect on him.

He was the Casanova and he was the one who called the shots, but not here, here she wore the pants, and he was powerless and helpless under her gaze, her touch, or her dismissiveness. He wanted to do anything and everything to please her. It was that pure and simple. He did not realize that under his alpha male exterior was this submissive little boy who wanted to be dominated. This woman, this mature, petite, tiny woman had something over him, he did not know what it was, but he gave in. It was an instinct that led him to her, now he was under her spell.

He knew something was not right the moment he met her. She was drinking a glass of red wine. She liked wine but had low tolerance. She had to drive so she insisted that he finish hers, after she had already taken a few sips. “There, drink mine.” She pushed the glass over to the boy. Without saying a word, boy took the glass from her and drank obediently. Then, he was shocked. He took her order without hesitation and that surprised him. He had no free will under her spell. He wanted one thing and one thing only. He wanted to serve her. She was caring, like a dom should, and she gave orders naturally, and he listened.

She had a good teacher. Once she was like that, she was the submissive one and the dominant one abused his power one too many times, he was careless and overplayed his hand, so she walked away and never looked back.

This time, this time was different. She liked to be in control, and she took care of her sub. She knew the rules now.

When the boy did not listen, she punished him, by being silent with him for days, boy was afraid of that, he wanted her affection. He needed her affection to feel alive. He did things for her because he knew that bringing her pleasure made him happy. When she was satisfied, she would reward him, with that gentle touch, the returned kiss in the darkness, the noise sometimes she made when he aroused her, but mostly she rewarded him with dead silence, quietness, and icy cold demeanor. She was methodical and she was distant, she showed little emotions but when she did, she ignited the room. Boy wanted to be part of her world, boy counted the ways she impressed him.

The walking wounded woman. Her eyes filled with sorrow, her emotions subdued, her voice soft and her body glided. This made the boy wanted to sing for her. He sang well, he was a Base II, he sang beautifully. He performed on stage, he took voice lessons, he was at ease with the camera, he was good looking and charming. He was witty and charismatic. Yet with her, he was speechless half the time, the other half he just stared at her. He was smitten by how pretty, how poised she was. An older woman with experience and maturity, and she was full of stories.

Boy remembered everything he did with the woman. Boy remembered how he tried to kiss her many times and she brushed him away, until one night they were out at a vista, middle of nowhere, on a wooden bench overlooking the bay, she sat quietly and watched the fog rolling in with the boy. The boy was telling jokes, and finally she was laughing at his joke and his face was all of sudden inches away from hers. Unexpectedly she pulled him closer and kissed him just so, and his world was turned upside right there and then. For a brief second, she allowed herself to be close to him, and the boy became grateful and hopeful.

He wanted her to stay with him always, he wanted her to sleep with him, wake up with him and put her head on his chest so that he could protect her in a way man would, not a boy but a man.

Woman looked at this boy, this terribly swept away boy who thought she was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Woman knew every move this boy was about to make. Women anticipated and laughed at his childishness. But woman adored the boy in a strange way. This boy reminded her the love of her life, who had ceased to exist, who declared that he loved her and then disappeared, leaving her walking wounded.

"We are alike, you and I." Boy said.

"I can’t even pretend that I only half liked you. I can’t. I just want to be with you." Boy eagerly declared his like for the woman.

Woman stretched in his bed, her fully clothed body was carefully preserved by this boy, who would not dare to touch her bosom or her waist. She had not wanted this to be a sexual relationship. Woman was clear at the very beginning, yet the boy remained cautiously optimistic in his pursuit of this woman.

A walking wounded woman, a hopeful boy, a story yet to be written.

A boy and a man

Boy was eager to please. Boy wore glasses because that was how he normally looked when he was not on camera. Boy was lean but not skinny. Short brownish hair, fair skin. Asked boy what color of his eyes were, he said, "Blue Green, sometimes blue, sometimes green." She scuffed. How could it be? She wondered.

Boy read her mind, and said, "They changed colors. On good days, they were green. Other days, they were blue." That evening boy's eyes were blue. A few days later, boy met her at a park bench, boy brought soup freshly made the night before for the girl. Girl was pleased by how spicy the soup was, celery and carrots diced into tiny bits with Italian hot sausages. It was delicious. Girl liked soup on cold days. Boy wore his glasses, with pale skin, thin lips and a tight flannel shirt that looked good on him. Girl never dated a boy who was only 24, not even when she was 24. Boy sat next to her in the park bench and gave her soup to drink. Girl said "thank you" while looked at the boy. Boy had green eyes just like he said. Green, piercing eyes. Boy had a very Germanic feature. She noticed. Boy's mother was German and dad Irish. Boy's younger sister was a platinum blonde. Boy was blond once. Boy looked like the young version of the man girl was in love with. Girl felt a tuck that was so unnatural so sudden girl wanted to throw up.

"How could it be?" Girl was thinking universe had a sick sense of humor. Universe went forward 24 years and gave her a man she loved. She fell in love with a man when the man was only eight years older than this boy. Fast forward fifteen years. Man was 48. Universe delivered a young affectionate passionate boy half of the man's age. This boy had the same name as the man. This boy looked like the man. This boy would do anything for this girl. This boy put the girl on a pedestal and admired her.

Boy was oblivious to all this. Boy had no idea what a 48 year old looked like. Boy's been out of college for two years. Boy just moved here. Boy was corn fed and innocent. Boy liked the girl because she was different than anyone he's met. Boy wanted to please the girl. Boy was happy to do anything for the girl. Boy was mesmerized by the girl. Boy wanted to give up his freedom, his young fans, his women, to be with the girl, in whichever capacity. Boy was determined.

Boy grew up in the east coast, and moved to San Francisco a year ago. Boy worked a block away from the girl. Boy had three girls whom he was involved with, but boy wanted the girl because the girl was exactly what he liked: Pretty, powerful, strong, and not at all interested in the boy in a romantic way.

Girl was quiet, yet when she spoke she meant it. Boy's constantly excited when he was around her. He wanted to please.

"I want you to check in with me every day." Girl would demand in a quiet, nonchalant way.

Boy felt all the blood rushed out of him, he was so turned on by the girl's simple comment that he was unable to contain himself. "Yes. I'd do that. For you." Boy said in a compliant way.

Boy wanted to kiss the girl. The girl pushed the boy away. Boy was disappointed but endured. Boy wanted to know what it was like to be with the girl. The thoughts did not leave him.

This was going to be a journey. Boy was not wondering why. Boy did what he knew best. Be charming. Be persistent. Be cute. Be available.

Boy was neat. So neat that he put everything away and folded things nicely. Boy was into clothing, fashion and boy was into his hair, his glasses and physique. Boy was fit, looked great on camera and boy was very good looking and he knew women liked him that way. Boy was like the man the girl loved. Except he was half of the age.

Girl was annoyed by the boy mildly. Annoyed that the boy was a carbon copy of the man she loved. Annoyed that the boy made her the priority. Annoyed that her life would become complicated if boy wanted anything more from her than she could handle. She wanted a clean, complication-free life, not some intense spring-fall romance with a boy who could be her child.

Boy flashed her big bright smile and wanted to hold the girl's hand. He was aroused by the girl and wanted to do anything to please her. In that really unusual dynamic, boy was no longer the Casanova that he was reputed to be; he became a man who was trying to earn a woman's affection. 

Rebecca

I did not recycle relationship.

He was once upon a time someone I was close to. I had evolved beyond physical pleasure. The relationship turned into something else all together. Like I was the cat that he never had.

Sometimes I could tell that he missed me. When he went out with others and when he was hoping that something could potentially turn into something and that failed. He was like that and strange that way. He told me that the girl he had been involved with had been going on dates. On OK Cupid and JDate. She's Irish but she was looking to date a good Jewish man, maybe a Jewish doctor of a sort. She was 37 or 38, had a nice body but not pretty enough of a face to land a guy, never had a serious boyfriend, a nurse, never been able to stay with anyone seriously for long. They had an arrangement, and once a week they saw each other and they had sex. She had been gone for a while for her holiday, he missed her but he knew that it was just a matter of time she would find someone and perhaps leave him. She was a free agent, and he only had sex with her. But he would be willing to let her go. It was in his nature to let women go. He told me these things because I was the non jealous type, someone he trusted, someone he liked. He wanted to tell me these things because I think he wanted to someone to listen.

He adored me like a cat. He needed that connection with someone but a non sexual one. I liked him because I knew that I'd never have sex with him. We were there once before and I was not that turned on by him. He was more of an uncle or fatherly figure to me. He and I were in sync in many levels but we got on each other's nerves like family did.

I watched my favorite movie with him. Rebecca, 1940, by Hitchcock. My favorite movie of all time. I had watched it over twenty times. I could recite the lines. I started watching it when I was only 12. I always thought that I wanted to be the new Mrs. De Winter, beautiful, young, innocent, lovely and devoted to the famous, yet moody Mr. De Winter, but as I grew older, I realized that I was really more like Rebecca. The mysterious, beautiful, beloved, popular, bewitching Rebecca. Who loved like a free woman and who was in love with many different men, who bewitched even the most loyal servant of Mandeley, Frank, who was having a fling with her cousin, who took up a flat in London but grew careless and brought lovers to Mandeley, in a beach shack she set up to meet up with her lovers. She died but even after her death, people loved and adored her and no one could replace her. She was a force to be reckoned with.  I was bewitched by this character since I was a little girl. As an adult, I realized that perhaps I had much of Rebecca in me, and that was perhaps the reason I loved and identified the movie since the very beginning.

We went out to a local Chinese American restaurant for dinner. He ordered Kung Pao and I had hot and sour soup. I was getting sick so I wanted soup. It was our tradition. We caught up and we sometimes just hang out the couch and watched movie. He told me the date he had on Saturday evening, she was not that interesting and he was a bit bored. He told me many things. We liked to talk to each other when we were both in the right mood. We gossiped about his friends, my friends, our friends. We talked about contemporary Chinese history. We ate chocolates and drank wine. We fell in silence and watched black and white TV program. He touched my head like he would with a cat. I hid under a blanket curled up on the couch as he occasionally petted me.

If I were Rebecca, I'd seduce him. But I had more of the new Mrs. De Winter in me, because with that innocent, stubborn side of me, I was only in love with one person and my physical and mental loyalty remained with the one person. I adored this man as if he was the father I never had. But I would not and could not love him romantically.

In that regard, perhaps I wanted to be Rebecca, but really I failed because I did believe in love. And loyalty and faithfulness. I could only be one thing and one thing only. I could only be me.

Maybe I loved Rebecca because I knew that I could never be her. I simply wished that I could.

It was late and I had to return home. I told him that I couldn't make plans because I was heading into surgery. I didn't know what and how I would feel. He looked worried. He was worried about me like a father would daughter. "But you can check on me." I said. He nodded his head. His girlfriend should return soon. He was worried that she would not return. He was worried that she'd leave him. But not his daughter. Not me. I would not leave him because he was my family and I was his.

He took me to my car, He hugged me to say goodbye and he said, "Goodbye my little precious." He kissed me on my forehead as I entered my car. I did not make plans to see him. Somewhere between the dinners and movies, months had passed, and he had become my family.

Half of the age

Boy smiled at me. Wanted to ask about this or that. Boy kept on chasing me around, texting me, skyping me, telling me things, looking at me, wanting to be my FaceBook friend. . .

"Why? Don't think too much. Just don't." I gave him advice.

He was exactly half of the age of the man whom I loved.  A younger version of him, to be sure. Boy had the same thin lips and bright smile, the same piercing eyes, his were green, boy's were blue.

HALF of the age of the man whom I loved once.

I could be the boy's mother.

Boy met me on a public bus, heading into work, he was desperately trying to speak to me. Within hours he developed an immediate crush on me. I knew that type.

Since then he wanted to talk to me and see me. I could be his mother.

Boy had that typical boyish smile, boyish look, boyish attitude. He wanted to see me again. We did not make plans. He wanted to create opportunity to see me again. Wanted to be my errand boy, which I had said that he'd be qualified to do.

"I will impart wisdom on you, in return, I can use you as my errand boy." I said.

I was joking, well, maybe I was only half joking.

Boy wanted to know what an errand boy duty entailed.

Boy wanted to see me.

Boy reminded me so much of the younger version of him. He was the man I loved. Boy looked a bit like that man, that man whom I was once infatuated with when I was much younger.  He was a young looking 32 year old. I was only 25 at the time. Years later, he would tell me that we met at a canoe trip. It was really a white water rafting trip. I never corrected him. He was my partner that weekend, and he wanted me then, and he wanted me still.

"You are very strong and powerful. I am attracted to you." Boy did not mince words.

"You tell me to do things and I just do." Boy added.

"I don't do that with others. But somehow you have the power." Boy told me.

Boy opened my side of car door. I liked that. I liked men who respected me and took care of me.

He did that. He always opened the car door for me to slide in. He did that every time we went out.

Boy thought that I was older. Boy was right. But boy did not realize how much he liked me. I didn't give him any ideas either.

It was not the first nor the last time a younger man came up to me and wanted to date me. I never invited them in, but they found me anyway. I had never ever in my life needed to proactively chase anyone. They often found me.

"You are very interesting." Boy said to me. Boy wanted to get to know me.

"I think you like men who are clingy but not too much. You like undivided attention. You liked men who are loyal. You liked that they pay attention to you and you only." Boy tried to figure me out.

I had never thought that boy was interested in me. I thought he wanted career advice and I had a few to give out. Boy knew that I was much older than he was but wanted to see me.

He wanted to give me a kiss so I let him to kiss my cheeks. I had never kissed a boy that young before. It would feel wrong. I did not care for him that way.

Ever since I had gone straight, I had given up on the thought of being a loose cannon. I wanted to be good, I wanted to be loved by one person and one person only. I can't love someone completely while being engaged in sexual conduct with others. I would feel guilty.

But... temptation was everywhere, like this boy, who decided that he wanted to meet me, to get to know me, to be with me, out of blue. He was out of his league, from the start. But he did not know that himself. He was young and full of optimism.

I saw the boy, and I was reminded of him.

Boy is half as old the man I loved. In his early twenties, boy was ready to explore the world. Just like how he found me at that white water rafting trip nearly sixteen years ago, this boy found me.

What is love?

I think about this often, but not so often that I'd share with him. For over two years I  have written about my experiences, with him and others, but mostly with him, or about him. I want to put together a journal, a paper version of it, and send it to him as a Christmas present.

In the middle of the night, I lay awake and think about him.

It's not just some made up shit that I have concocted in my head, it feels real. The tenderness I feel about him, the overwhelming feeling of love and joy when I am with him, the sense of peace, the way how things ought to be... it is always how I felt about this relationship. I had to teach myself, restrain myself to feel, because I don't know what good could come out of it, if I just dwelled on it. I don't know because I need a sign.

Always waiting for a sign.

I have always loved him. But when he drops off from the face of earth, for extended period of time, I feel that he does not love me or want me any more. I don't believe that's true. I believe that his love for me exists and he is there for me. But I'm a married woman. He lives with his son and his son's mother. He does not plan to change anything. I don't know what is there that we can do but some stolen moments of passion.

But how could you be with someone for so long and still feel though it is just yesterday that you met; how could you feel so strongly about someone and do not know what to do without them in their lives, yet you do not expect anything to change, or anticipate a joint future, or a sign of progress, and your decisions are just some resignations.

Always waiting for a sign.

In the interim, you just continue onwards as if he does not exist in your life most of the time and not make plans even when you cannot bear of the thought of not seeing him for another day, for another week, for another month.

I don't know the answer. I can't know the answer. I am afraid of the answer.

I simply know that the thought of him not being in my life will take the fire out of me. Forever. He's the reason of my being. And I've gone around the world twice to find me, him, me and him, to know that I need him, to feel anything at all in my life. At this age, I've only just discover this feeling.  It sounds strange, ridiculous and unreal, but it's true.

Everything is real. He's living and breathing. I am feeling alive because of him

If that's not love, I don't know what love is, then.

Not so pristine past and such a simple life now

An old fling calls. Have not spoken to him for some time. He's a weird guy who is involved with someone, I think he loves her but she does not, as she has never introduced him to her friends. She went away on a vacation and when she returns she'll call on him, have sex and leave. They don't do anything together, and he feels that he is used. But, I don't think he wants anything more, or he couldn't handle anything more. He likes to talk to me. I on occasion enjoy talking to him but it is not a life and death thing if I didn't hear from him for weeks or months. He tends to keep in touch with me and he thinks that I'm funny, hot and smart. But I don't respect him. I don't care for him. I sort of pity him because I find him mildly annoying. I also find him to be non accomplished - he's smart but he does not apply himself.

I like men who are accomplished, who can figure things out, who works hard and makes something out of nothing, who creates a niche market, who is an expert of something. I like very successful men because I am successful. I don't want to support others. I can afford a life without having to work hard. But I love working. I need to respect that person. I liked this man who is an old fling, but his only contribution to my life was that he was good in bed, many many moons ago, and smart in his own ways, but I don't care for his weirdness, and I don't care for how he was so hung up on seeing me as a lover and not as a friend and vise versa. At some point it got too old and I didn't want to create any false expectations. On top of it all, I don't love him. I sort of find him tiring and boring. I can only take him in small dosages.

I saw another friend for dinner. It was an innocent dinner. He was interviewing at a competitor's place, and I was giving him some tips about this space that is fairly new and cutting edge. Then we walked back home. He and I have become friends over the course of me removing them out of my life as lovers. I had no intention to pursue anything any more.

Betrayal is a bitter pill to swallow. I couldn't face myself in the end, as it turned out, open relationship, even if it's a side one, even if he and I are not married or living together, is a bad thing for me. It does not work because I was constantly conflicted, and I can only love one person and one person only, those fringe relationships made it difficult to handle my relationship with him because I started to doubt his intent with me - how could I be sure that he loved me if I could not love him and him alone?

The boy I saw for dinner is nordic and good looking by default. He's very tall and very young, a very attractive man who gets women wanting to flirt with him all the time. To think that I had him once and then just let him go is very gratifying. He clearly has no idea that women just find him extremely attractive. His nordic feature is very prominent. He is super smart and has a great family. To top it off, he and I get along well and we never got on each other's nerves.  We've always been very transparent with one another. He's a smart, confident man, and he's married, which of course in my book, a good thing. He tells me about his spouse and how they are trying for a baby. I just do not see him ever not be faithful to his wife, but it seems though for the time being, he has been, and that's a good thing.

When we dated, it was a regular once a week or once a month thing, but when we were not meeting up to fuck, we had lunches or dinners or drinks. We never counted dates, and we just talked to each other regularly. He cares about me and knows the inside and outside of me. He knows what to order for me. The longer I had been with him, the more comfortable it became. He took charge. He ordered and we split the bill. He knows me more than most men did. But I did not want him to fall for me. He always remembered when we saw each other last. I told him things that no one else knew. I told him about the man I am in love with and why I have to stop seeing him that way. He understands. At the end of the day. I just want to be loved and adored. I just want to love the person who loved me.

I know one day he'd be gone and I'd be OK. It's good to have a friend who knows so much about me. Someone who I was intimate with once, and knows why I need to store whoring around. I want to give this an earnest go. If the man I loves does not seem to get with the program, and know why I'm doing what I'm doing and knows what to do next, then it is what it is, at least I've tried.

We passed the condo where he owned a loft. That was when he all of sudden called out his wife's name. She had gotten out of class and was heading home and there we crossed path An inevitable introduction was needed. She's a pretty girl, white, blondish, with short hair and beautiful smile, but she had lots of wrinkles around her forehead and her face. She's short like me. It was dark and I was feeling redness coming onto my cheek bones, not because I had anything to do with her husband now but I knew A LOT of things about her, her likes and dislikes in bed, her mood swings and what she did last weekend. Her husband told me everything. How does it work? It feels like that I was the ex wife and he's now married to her but he's still close to me because I know too much about his past.

I recovered well in the darkness. I told her that I was helping her husband prepping for his interview and that I had shared with him the revenue model of my business. She then said "OK, and it was great to meet you." She said that he had told her about his upcoming interviews and that he had told me about me, she seemed so nice and innocent, it made me worried that it was a show, but perhaps not.

It's not the first nor the last time I made a wife jealous of my relationship with their spouse. Crap.

I hope no shit storm of any sort.

I missed him as I lay awake late at night.

My one and only. I know that he's busy with work. I think he does not necessarily feel the same way about me always. I think he makes contact when he needs me sexually. But I miss him and I do love him. I don't need anything or anyone else in my life to keep me distracted. Sexually I am fine being alone and if I were to see him, it's the only time I would ever have sex. I made a promise. I am finally clean. And committed.

I have completed my transformation. For the time being.

Now I wait.

A new kind of ending

Hurried foot steps. Late.
Typical fall autumn evening.
Hot.
Top down.

Third. Kearny. Columbus. City Lights Bookstore. Stinky Rose.
Green. Union. Filbert. Greewich. Lombard.
Turn Left.
Taylor. Jones.

A man was coming down from the steep stairs.
Greetings.
Embraces.
Woman walked up the stairs.
With a slounchy worn Roots shoulder bag.

Man had not shaven.
He approached the woman and started to kiss.
He smiled warmly and she kissed him back.
He tasted like mouth wash.

He led her into his bedroom.
"Let's fuck" he said.
She felt his hard cock pressed against her.
It was time.
There she was undressed.
Her wrapped around dress.
She had recently discovered something ironic.

Had she been in his shoes, he been hers.
Had the situation been reversed.
She would be told by others to leave him.

"He's no good. He's married. With kids. He'd never leave his wife. You are waiting for something that would never happen. You must move on. You must leave him. You can do better. Find someone who's available and love you and can be with you, always. He's no good for you."

That would be the response she'd get from her friends.
That would be a common response to a woman who was waiting for a man to leave his family, his wife, so that they could live happily ever after.

Except the situation was the near exact opposite.
That realization hit her like a ton of bricks.
What if all along it was not she who was hurt but he? What if he had to endure and wait for her to feel some level of commitment and wanted to have a go at this? What if all along it was she who was being insensitive and demanding and unrealistic and all that?

You can't change the past.
That's what you couldn't do.
Nothing else mattered except for the sudden shift of a different type of thinking.

What if he was always there, what if he always loved her and what if he was waiting for her to see?

"I no longer needed antidepressant drugs. My midlife crisis is over." She laid her head on his chest after.

"You are too young to have a midlife crisis." He said.

"When will you have yours? When you are fifty?" She asked.

He did not answer.


That evening was short lived. He had to leave. She had to leave. Their worlds were calling for their return. That evening they embraced and she felt at home again in his arms, with him inside of her, and with him becoming one with her. That evening she was happy that he made a little of bit of him available to her. That evening she realized that not every story with a man and a woman, one married one not, would end up the same.

That was no one set of story, there was no one set of ending. In a world that people left one another, when people gave into lust but could not be more coward when it came to commitment, she knew she was neither. This world she created for herself took a different shape and path than the ordinary. This world believed in one thing and one thing only. And as cliche and as unappetizing it may be to others, this world was not a complicated one. A woman. A man.

Woman loved a man. He loved her back. She could not live without him. She needed him to nourish her soul. She wanted to be the one who would take care of him at his old age.

She took a break for two months. A break without him, without anyone else. She missed no one but she was empty inside without him in her life. She couldn't breath and she cried at the thought of losing him forever.

She realized that she never really needed to seek out things or make new friends.

The world was without meaning or purpose without him. Nothing else mattered.

So a new ending emerged.

She would tell him how she really felt about him. She would finally admit to him, and to herself, that none of this was an imaginary make believe fairy tale.  She wanted to be with him, and take care of him. She wanted to be his. She was his. Now and forever.

In seeking consistency

When he said that it's been two years since we started dating, I was getting defensive because he had no clue the agony, disappointment and sadness he put me through. I think in his mind, we had been together for two years and life had always been wonderful since we started seeing one another. It's not a traditional dating arrangement, it's constant separation with a few intense encounters.

I had never gone back in time to read stories or to read emails that we had exchanged. Then I did. Then I realized something I did not realize before. His level of affection for me, via his late night emails, had never decreased. Every note he sent was a love note. He had never changed the way he felt about me, it was always passionate and loving. He always felt the same way about me, it was I who had changed, who had suspected that he did not love me, or he did not want me, it was I who thought he did not want to be with me any longer, It was always me. Reading the notes he sent me from two years ago to now, it sounded just the same - it could only mean that he still felt the same about me, he had loved me and would always love me. 

Realizing that was huge. For two years I cried more than I laughed when it came to dealing with my relationship with him. It was the long extended period of his absence that made me angry and upset, and frankly doubtful. But he was always consistent. He adored and loved me just the same. If that did not mean anything, then I would not know what would.

I had become a rational, calmer person. At the end of the day it's not the destination but the journey that mattered.

I had never been loved liked this. I had never loved another like this.

I couldn't live without him.

I had gone completely straight and clean. No other distractions. Work, family and he. 

It really was just that simple.

I should be more consistent, and I should be loving. I want to take care of him. To love him the way I knew how to love. To love him the way he deserve to be loved. To be a more complete person.

I must give it a try, for consistency purpose.

Safe return

For a long while, I was manic, lost, and impulsive. I had taken drugs to suppress my impulses, I had given myself excuses, I had lost touch with reality.

What is reality anyway? What is truth? Is reality the way we think we are living in or is reality the way others see the world?  Is truth what we have convinced ourselves to believe in or is truth the dead hard concrete evidence of absolute irrefutable fact?

I had gone around the world twice trying to find what was that I knew, what was that I felt, what was that I could tolerate and live with, and could not live without.

It was actually quite clear. 

I was not a polyamorous person. I was not someone who needed to constantly be stimulated by things and people. I was not someone who needed to have multiple lovers, and constant adoration from men.

I needed only one and one person only. Just like I was for twelve years, I had never ever contemplated with having any affairs with any man. But once I believed in something, and once I had convinced myself what was good for me, I went on that route and I did not look back.

I made many mistakes in my past two years of my life. I searched love in vain. I searched for meaning, inspiration, and feeling in wrong places. I kept on running the other way the moment I started to feel. I was worried that he would betray me, hurt me, and leave me. I wanted to shut my emotions off so that I could focus on pleasure. But how could you control your emotions? How could you hide the fact that you had loved someone passionately, completely and the world would be an empty place without him in it? 

I found adoring men in wrong places. I found wrong men to adore me. I found no sense of stimulation or inspiration. I found guilt. Weighing on me was the guilt that I developed the moment I let myself be made available to others, other men who I could care less whether they existed or not. I could careless because the only person I ever cared for, the only person I ever loved for, perhaps for years before and years after, was you, had always been you.

I didn't want other men. I didn't care about how or what they thought of me, I wanted them out of my life, vanish, disappear, so that I could be pure and simple again. At the risk of losing you, at the risk of being left with nothing, no one at all, I had to let them go so that I could feel clean again. It was an experiment at best, in the end.

I thought perhaps we humans could not be monogamous, we would still have urges to mate with others, we would be tempted by others, we would want to venture out when opportunity presented itself, I thought all those reading made me smart, made me want to be more receptive to the idea of open relationship, to share the person I love with others, to love one but still fucked another...

In the end, I realized that the most powerful thing in this world was simply love. Love someone and you would not want to be with another person again.

If this two years had taught me anything, it was that I could only feel complete when I loved one person and be with that one person, that one person alone. And that person was you.

Thankfully this experiment reconfirmed my own original theory, that was when I make a commitment I had adhere to it. I had always been a rather faithful, deeply committed person who would do anything on my end to make something work. For twelve years, no matter how bad things went, how I felt deep inside of heart, how hollow I was, I never once strayed. What finally took me out of that mode was the final draw. Once that was over it was over.

Now I was in this rather bizarre limbo, waiting for something to happen, or not happen.

While my heart was with someone, my physical being had to be just as committed as my heart. It's really just that simple. It was not easy, because there was no promise made, but I knew what I knew, that was I must give this a try. I had to be monogamous, I had to be devoted, and I had to love him back with everything I ever had. I must give him the opportunity to prove to me, that my wait is worth it. 

Until then, I must live my life. Be graceful, be grateful and be faithful. 

This was the person I had always known. She had returned. Finally. 

Faith

It's possible that we can change our ways or our thinking. In the end it's not that we don't have the ability to change, it's that we are not often willing.

To see things another way is perhaps the biggest change that we need to make, and it must not be laced with doubt, sadness, fogginess and disillusions. We must be given a reason to love, to care, and to be hopefully of a brighter future.

I have been on this road for years. For two years I have been up and down with the same individual whom I have, beyond reasonable doubt, loved, with my heart, my soul, my physical being.

It does not need to be a rational thing. It needs not to be explained and analyzed. At the end of the day, I realize that I have never loved another being the same way. It is just as he has often said, "we belong together. We belong with each other."

I still do not know how to get there, to go from here to there. I think the prolonged uncertainty is created by him, but I do not believe that it is one directional either. Part of me cannot make a decision or try to rock the boat too much. We have obligations. We have family and children that we are answering to. We have careers, both his and mine, are on the rise. I love what I do. I believe that he loves his work. There are many circumstances that prevent us being together. I don't know if that will change in the short term.

But I know what I know, and that is I love him. It has not changed. It is not rational. It is a pure instinct. It makes me whole when I know that my love is reciprocated. I worry about many things. I worry that he does not love me any more. I worry that he would vaporize and leave me in this physical world, alone. But most importantly, I worry about losing the hope. Hope that one day we could be together, in a world where only he and I matter. I want to take care of him. I want to devote myself to taking care of him. That is nothing like I have ever imagined myself of doing, to anyone. Never. It is as if my world is incomplete until he has come along, and in that process, a two year long process, I feel just the same, I feel as if he is the reason I exist. I love my children and my family, but I crave him. I cannot live without him. My world is hollow without him. I have loved him and I am in love with him.

I don't know what lies ahead. I don't know what I don't know. I don't even know how long I could keep the faith. But I am proud of myself for not wanting to search any more. I don't want to be with anyone else, physically or emotionally. And now I wait. Wait is all that I can do. Until he makes the next move, or if he won't, until I lose my faith.

I found my harbor. He is my harbor. I just need to, somehow, sail far and steadfastly, until I can dock my boat at this harbor.

Life, not lived in, but visited

I showed him photos of my ex’s wife. He drew quick conclusions. “She is a very strong woman. She wears the pants around the house. He needs to grow a pair.”

He was clearly on my side, like a girlfriend who always wanted the best out of her friend, and tried to comfort her so that she would not feel too bad. Plus, he found my stories entertaining. My past, ancient past stories, my recent past life, they were good stories. This was before I had to hit the reset button, to re-begin, to be pure and conservative again, to not be a wanderer but be a reflective person who thought and cared deeply, and acted even more cautiously.

We saw each other semi regularly. I sometimes rested my head on the top of his tummy, or we’d lie next to each other, on his only couch, we’d read together. Sometimes we chatted about religion, science, pop culture, politics and travel. I liked the aspect of lying next to someone. To feel the body intertwined but in a sobering, platonic way, it felt unorthodox but liberating.

He liked to wear cashmere sweaters and baggy jeans, I did not like his choice of clothing but I was neither his girlfriend nor his mother. I just wrinkled my nose and gave him that look of disgust, but he took it in good spirit. He finally got rid of his unruly hair, his hair was shorter, and he appeared to be younger looking that evening. I did not like that either. I was always finding faults in him. He seemed to have lost more weight since I saw him last.

"This was not comfortable. I needed a new pillow." I was squirming.

He was all skinny and bones. I wanted some cushion to rest my head on. He tossed his fish pillow to me. He had lean hands and shapely arms. We used to go out and do things, now we just hung around his place, ate take out and watched TV programming.

He warmed up plates in the microwave. I brought his favorite Chinese take out. From Henry’s Hunan, the best Kung Pao Chicken in town. For kicks, I added Howard’s Kung Pao Pork. And of course steam rice for two. He liked the dishes. So did Don Johnson and Jimmy Carter. I double parked at the ally way of Natoma Street, ran in, with my hair still wet from the gym’s shower. I had not done Chinese take out for over fifteen years. It felt utterly strange. Like I was back in college.

On that particular evening, he told me what was going on at work. And what he was working on. He offered me pot. He showed me his new invention. Then he played this old 1980s documentary. It was our deal. I brought the take out and he supplied the video.

I had often wondered if we could form these bizarre friendship that lasted for decades, or if eventually these relationships would die like those romantic ones.

That evening I failed to mention to him that I had rekindled my romance with my ex. I did not want to tell him that because he would find it tedious and annoying. He wanted to think of me as someone who was evolved beyond the temptations and who could withstand the agony of sexless life. I did not want the change of perception to occur. I wanted, deep down, only a fantasy, an unrealized longing, an inspiration of a sort. Life, in the end, was best not lived in but visited.

As a visitor, you got to sample all that was good about a place, and you never was there long enough to see the everyday mundane; you took constant pictures; you memorized your best of the best encounters; and you let your imagination grow wild, and through the test of time, your impression of a place was solidified and molded into a plaque, sitting forever on the mantel, serving as a reminder that you had once visited this place and your world had gotten better because of it, it was an expanded view. You were enriched by this experience but not burdened by its true nature. You saw what you wanted to see and not one bit more.

I was always a visitor to this life I had led. I watched this woman falling all the time and she’d pick up her pieces and then pretended she had never experienced the pain, the neglect, or the dismissiveness. She was at once strong and ignorant.

I wanted her to live this life, but she would not hear. She had long given that up. It was always better to visit this life than to live in it. She never recovered from the last experiment.

I hugged him goodbye.

I would see him again, of course, but I did not know when.

We did not make plans. But I knew that I would be visiting him again. Like I visited this life.

The Door

It's been days, if not weeks, since I saw you last. Since mid September, since I saw you again after thinking I'd never see you again, after thinking "this time was for real, you no longer existed in my life," I saw you, briefly, as if you never existed, you came and met me at a hotel, we spent a couple of hours together, and you had to leave. I was left alone in the hotel room, getting dressed, getting ready for the series of other events. I thought, "how could it be? You were here, weren't you? How come I did not feel your coming and going? How could I not feel?"

I did feel, I felt a slight melancholy, a sense of you not being really there, a sense of you wanting nothing to do with me, but then you did. I couldn't tell what it was that I wanted out of you.

I wanted nothing. That was what I told myself. I appreciated what you brought to me, out of me, rather.

The truth was, I did not know what I wanted. I thought that I wanted only sex, I could have sex anywhere, with anyone, but I did not.

I thought that I wanted an adventure, I did not.

In the end, I wanted love. I wanted to be loved and to love. To give everything that I could give, to be folded into that person, to become one with that other person.

It was you, it could only be you, because you made me the person I was, and you gave me what I wanted out of life. I was alive once again.

I never knew there was another door. I thought the door led to a closet. I had no idea it led to stairs. It gave me another way out. I couldn't stop thinking about it, in part I was shocked. That morning, after you had left, I slept, I was feeling ill, I was always so elated when I was with you, and I needed time to come back down to earth.

"Don't wear heels in the house." I remembered you telling me. I answered, "Of course, you have people living downstairs."

That evening I was sick. I was sick whenever I was with you. I understood what people meant by saying "love sick." Truly for once I understood what love sick was. I was always sick and feeling dizzy when I was you. My body reacted to you in an irrational, sadistic way. It created enough of anxiety that it would torture me to death, a slow death. I fetched for my pills. I had those inside of my purse now in case of emergency. There in delirium, I saw your unlocked computer, with emails opened, broadly, as if you did not care for me to read it. To browse through it. I didn't care either. I really didn't care. But that level of trust was unseen before.

Then in the morning, as you left and gave me instructions on how to exit, I realized that you had entrusted me in ways I was not entrusted before. You allowed me to linger in your place at your absence. You had not worried about me snooping or finding out what you were like outside of our interaction. I did not snoop, I did not care to find out anything at all from you. It was not important, you were important, I was not going to care what you did before or during our interactions over the last two years. I didn't care because I was certain of one thing. I loved you.

I wanted a future with you. I told you that the world was a better place, my world was a better place with you in it, you told me the same. I believed you this time.

I would leave everything behind, to be with you. It was that plain and simple. I had never heard you ask me that in addition to my physical body, you needed something else. You needed my heart. I had never heard you say that because I thought we did not reach that level of intimacy.

When you told me all those places you needed to be in October. I was worried that you were too busy for me, to see me, and I was resigned to think that was my life anyway, but then you said, "I will be back in between. I will see you, you know that."

I was no longer a young woman. But I had never experienced this level of feeling before. I had never been loved or loved anyone like this before.

Every part of my being was overly sensitized. I had never wanted to know this before, but you told me once again you did not want to be with another woman. You only wanted to be with me. You said that you just wanted to be with me. I did not know if you meant it, or if you were just telling me to make me feel good.

I had been to the other side, I didn't like it. I was better suited to be in a monogamous relationship. Because, as it turned out, my heart could only be given to one and one person. It was always going to be you.

I wanted to ask you if there was a future of a sort, of the two of us together, for the rest of our natural lives. You said that one of the reasons you were attracted to me was that I let you do whatever you liked. I was not like that with other men. I was always ready to be taken by you, to engage in a sexual relationship with you, because you aroused me like no other. I could not eat or sleep when I was with you. I just simply wanted to be with you.

Where did we go from here on out?

I did not know the answer, but I was encouraged by the alternate door.

What if we did not have to make a choice? What if we just decide on the next step together? Why couldn't we give it an earnest try? Didn't we deserve to be with the person who was designed for us?

What would it take for us to make a drastic change to our lives?

What if you could open the door to your heart, just slightly more, and invite me in? 

Shots

He took random shots of me.

He took photos and he looked at them. When I was not around.

I sometimes took photos of myself, and sent them to him.

He told me what he liked the most.

Photos I did not recall taking and then sending.

I asked him what were his favorite dates.

He said, "Of course the boat, the Palomar, those were really great. Everything was great."

He would say that I did not recall spending a lot of time together.

I told him "For me, it was the first Christmas we spent together." He asked why the next day.

"Because you tied me up." He used to like to tie me up and fuck me.

It was not the first time he tied me up, that Christmas, but it was the candles. He lit candles that night. We exchanged presents like two people, a real couple. We spent an evening together like a real couple. I had missed him terribly. I was away, he was away. I wanted nothing more in this world to be with him. And that evening was one such evening.

When we first went out, as we did still recently, we rarely made it out of the door. With him, I couldn't eat anyway. I just simply wanted to be stripped naked and have my body against his, in bed.

I promised that we'd do things like two ordinary, non physical people do one day, when we were bored of one another, we'd resort to spending time eating, talking, and staring at the clock and wishing the evening was over.

On that particular Christmas evening he took photos of me, videotyped us and sent the video to me.

"Sometimes I don't know what to do with you." He'd tell me.

"Because you are content with your situation and not wanting to change yours. Neither do I?" I had an answer ready.

"You are right. We are in similar boat."

Children to raise. A life that was not just ours, and ours alone.

Children needed us. They also needed the other parent. We were just fifty percent of the equation. We were not each other's other fifty percent, it was never going to change.

But at what point did we decide that we needed to tend our own garden and be with the person we truly meant to be with?

Did we just talk into staying status quo because we couldn't afford to rock the boat?

In the evening when he slept with me, draping himself onto me, I felt it was the most comfortable, the most natural thing. I did not want to be with anyone else. I could rest my head on his chest and feel safe and sound. I had not been doing it for years until he came along. I had not done that again with anyone else.

I wanted a world where he was the only thing in my frame.

I wanted a world where a photo of the two of us would not generate any controversy.

I wanted a world where I was his, and his alone, and I was to to be freely taken by him, anytime, whichever way he liked.

Waiting

I waited.

It was becoming a chess game. It was not a strategic game, it was just that neither one of us wanted to call it quit.

I tried.

Trying to forget, to insert new people into it, to live without him, to sample a life without his existence, to not feel that gaping hole that was inside of me.

A world, without him.

It was not working.

So I waited.

Waited for my heart to return, to return to where it rightfully belonged.

"I want your body to be mine and mine only." He said.

"It is yours." I answered.

"But I want more. One more thing." He added.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Your heart. I want your heart." He replied.

"You want me to love you?" I asked you.

"Yes." No uncertainty.

"What about you?" I needed to know what I was getting into.

"You know how I feel." I could feel his breath. His face inches away from mine. His lips on my face. Moving from my lips to my cheek and back.

"Then tell me." I demanded.

"You know how I feel." He repeated.

"Do tell. Do you love me?" I wanted to hear it from him.

"I love you." There. It was not hard after all.

"I love you." I answered back.

I could only love one person, as it turned out. I could not divide and conquer, mix and match, pick and choose. I was biting more than I could chew.

"Two years, that’s twelve times as long as the first time." He had earlier stated a lesser known fact.

I was not into statistics, but I knew that we once dated. Some fifteen years ago, for about two months.

My heart had returned home. It traveled far. It was homeless for a while. It required not reassurance but faith in its journey, adventure, or misadventure, as the case maybe, to return home.

I was never unkind to him. I was simply unsure about him. About what he was like when he was not with me, about whether he loved me, and about a future, a future with him and him only. When I did not know, I resorted to write-offs. I was a trained CPA. I knew how to declare permanent loss. Write-offs, bad debt. I did not want him in my life because I was afraid of losing him, or worse yet, what if I never had him, what if he was simply playing with my heart and one day he got bored and walked away, and failed to inform me? What if he forgot to tell me that he had moved away, and no forwarding address was provided to the postal office?

I could not eat or sleep when I was with him. We often never made it out of his flat. In his bed, we were folded like dumplings, with our clothes scattered around from the living room and bedroom. My still wet hair tangled up like a bird’s nest. There he was thrusting himself into and out of me, and then resting beside me, telling me about his feeling towards me, like it was the latest news, and not a repeat of the last two years.

It took a long time for me to stop feeling like a fool. I thought he no longer wanted me. It was difficult to handle rejection, even an imaginary one.

My world was a better place with him in it. It shined brighter. I was more grounded, less antsy, and I was no longer missing anything. He completed me.

It was always more difficult to wait and see, than to draw half baked conclusion.

"What do you mean?" I asked him to clarify an earlier statement.

"I have been with you for two years. Many people would stop feeling as excited. I am more attracted to you as time goes on." He explained.

"But why?" I wanted to understand it.

"Because we belong together. We belong." He had told me that before. I did not believe him. It sounded so cliche. But this time it felt genuine. He meant it. Perhaps he always meant it. I just refused to believe him.

There was always that tipping point, when you just knew.

I used to feel anxious about him. I had loved no other. It was not a conscious decision, it was unplanned. It was an instinct. We were the Cinderella and the glass slippers. we were custom-designed for each other, we were declared factory rejects, tossed aside by mainstream, but we fit together perfectly, in a defective way.

"I love you." He would say to me over and over again.

"I love you." In the darkness I could only hear him and see the broad frame of him. With him, my kinks were unapologetically natural, with him, I could be myself.

In the darkness and quietest moment, a fast car zooming through the windiest road in San Francisco, a woman’s pounding the pavement with her heels, and an early morning jogger telling his running partner how he felt about a woman he was in love with.

Last night he said to me, “I am in love with a crazy girl.”

"Tragic. Utmost tragic. You met not a girl, but a woman in midlife crisis." I disputed his statement.

"But you are still hot. And you are always my girl." He draped his arms around me. I was feeling secure for once. I needed not to travel the world to find another person. I had finally found my perfect match in this imperfect world.

He made love to me, hurting me a little, the way I liked. I had not been physically intimate with anyone for a while. With him, only, and it was becoming difficult, I felt out of practice. But he tolerated me just the same.

"What is that you do in the winter?" He asked.

"I need wood. Lots of firewood. To heat up the house. Someone will deliver them for me." I knew what he meant.

A future, at last. A future with he and I only. A future where I could dare to imagine. A real winter with firewood and snow covered path. A foreign land with him and only him. I would put on his coat and scarf as he went out for the morning to fetch bread and cheese. He was older, beautiful and happy, because in that future no obstacle existed. I was content and filled with peace as I waved goodbye to him. In that future my world and his world no longer competed. Our worlds did not experience collusion or detour. We simply formed our own world.

6:30 AM. It was still dark.

"Early birds catch the worm. You can have all the worms in the world." I said.

I needed to sleep. I was never a morning person. At seven he was dressed and ready to go. I needed another thirty minutes, or an hour. So he told me how to exit the house, another door, another way. He gave me details.

"You go out of the bathroom door. Walk down the stairs. And by the trash cans you will find a small path leading to a door. You can exit onto the street. Make sure you lock everything when you leave."

He kissed me to say goodbye. I could barely open my eyes.

For the next half an hour I drifted into dreams. In one of the dreams, I was standing in a large building. A performance was going on. A friend came over to ask me why I was there alone, I told him that my partner had left for work, I was to find another way to get out of the building. My friend tossed me a curious look but said nothing. I felt well justified to say nothing at all.

For two years I did not know there was another way to get out of the house. Another door. Like some sort of magic trick. There was another way out.

Suppose that was how our relationship was going to last. We must find another door. A door that led to an alternate future. A door that led to a path that was windy and filled with pleasant surprises. A door that would lead to an exit, where he would be waiting for me. I would tell him that I had gone around the world twice looking for that door. He would be smiling and say to me, “You never had to travel that far. You needed only to stand still, and say ‘Open Sesame.'”

Suppose this was just a waiting game. I needed to wait for my heart to return. He needed to wait to be sure that I was his and his alone, at last.

Suppose this was a new beginning. Suppose life was never meant to be complicated. We were both waiting for each other. And now we were found.