Love and a dreamed future

I was heads down when he came to fetch me. Right at 8:30. He was always on time. I rose from the couch to meet his eyes. We embraced. I put my Macair away and handed him my overnight bag. He led me to the elevator, third floor and then took me upstairs to his room. He wanted to go out. He wanted to get some food. I imagined that he had not eaten at all. Yet, we kissed and that led to other things. Soon I was pushed onto the bed and he was jamming his cock into my pussy by force. I was not wet nor ready but he was erect and ready for action.

I let him. He fucked me like he was raping me. He fucked me and pushed on me until my upper arm turned black and purple. I always ended up with bruises when I was with him.

He kissed me all over as he hurt me. He planted small repeat kisses as if to tell me that it was all going to be okay as he hurt me. He called me "my beautiful girlfriend". He murmured "my love" to my ears, he told me that he loved me so much, he had never felt this way about others. I told him that I loved him back, and I too had never ever felt this connected to anyone. He said that it was very personal. His relationship with me, was so different.  almost three years had passed and we still felt this same way towards each other, the same level of passion, and the same closeness. And as a result he concluded that this was going to be how we were for the rest of our natural lives.

I wanted more. He asked me what that was. I told him that I didn't want to get married but perhaps to move in. He said that made him very happy. To know that I wanted to take the next step to be with him. "Let's talk about how." He said. He wanted to know how we could accomplish this. Me being a married woman and he lived with the mother who gave birth to his child. We lived in such complicated worlds. Yet we understood each other.

He told me that he could tell precisely why he liked me. I was nice. I was pretty. But love was indescribable. It's more complicated.

He asked me why I loved him. I told him because I belonged to him.

We lived in Jane Austen world where he called me "my love", he held me tight and told me that he loved me - often. I put my hands through his curly, now largely gray hair. I couldn't get over how beautiful his hair was. I touched the top of his shoulder, his neck, and he said "that felt nice." We embraced each other like this was how we were built. I loved his hair. They were positively turning gray and I loved it. I love his butt, his body, his smell, his face, his eyes, and the tip of his nose. I loved every part of his body, since I first met him a few years ago until now I was always in love with his body. He was good looking always but he was phonemically attractive to me.  I wanted to take care of him. Watch him getting cranky and older. He said, "I'm boring, cranky and I'm pain to deal with. Just ask anyone who works for me." I said, "I don't care if you are boring, cranky and pain to deal with. I love you still."

I knew he was not that exciting and I knew that he could be ver self centered and difficult, but I loved him no matter what. He's that important to me.

I said, "I don't cook." He said, "That's okay." I then said. "I also don't clean." He said, "we will hire someone. When do you ever clean now?" I said, "That's a good point." I finally said, "I don't do laundry." He said, "I hate laundry. we use laundry service."

He wanted to arrive home to a place that he and I called home so that he could have access to me whenever he wanted.

I wanted nothing magical. I wanted only be with him and to please him.

I asked him what is that he wanted from me. He said, "Nothing, just more of this. Being with you more often. Hanging out with you."

I asked if we could have breakfast sometimes. To wake up together and have breakfast, which was on my Christmas list.

I asked if I could meet some of his friends. Be out with him during the day light. He said yes but I did not know when, if at all.

"Why do you love me so much?" I told him the truth, "because I belonged to you." I did not tell him when I thought that he no longer wanted me, after I told him that I did not want to be with him anymore in self defense, I thought the world ended. I thought my heart was hollow and the world no longer made sense. I was walking on Bryant heading towards Third, on my way to the gym, and I heard him through the wind, and all I heard was him saying "Baby." And that voice carried and I could feel that he was calling out for me, and I started to tremble. That evening I arrived home, still feeling the after shock of his calling out for me in the middle of the street, he yearned for me and I could feel it in my bones as I thought he no longer cared about me, and I vowed to write him off. I arrived home feeling still hollow, only to find his emails in my inbox, there were no one around and I started to cry, uncontrollably. I had never cried for anyone like I did for him. That's how I knew for the very first time, how deeply I loved him. It was not rational. Soon after we started seeing each other, though I remained guarded for a rather long time. That experience taught me one thing. My body was somehow connected to his. I absolutely could not stop seeing him because he pulled me in. He's my mothership. I was always orbiting around him. Why, I did not know. I just knew that he completes me. This only happened once in a life time.

I tried again to rid of him, not because he did not matter to me but I thought I no longer mattered to him. But he remained. I remained in his life. By that time I knew that I could no longer just let him go. I needed him like I needed water and air.

He was the man who walks straight out of Jane Austen novel. Mysterious, cautious, proper. One moment he was distant and another he's baring his soul to me. He declared love. He told me repeatedly how much he loved me. He had no idea my love for him runs deeper than those three words. He had no idea that if he ceased to exist, my world no longer would matter. He had no idea, the very thought of him not being with me, made me cry. I cried often. For him. For the lies I must tell myself. For the future that I did know if I'd ever have with him. I had never wanted anything as much as I wanted him, yet I could not figure out how to get to point B from point A. I needed direction from him. I needed him to guide and lead me. I needed him to need me as much as I needed him. I needed him to see me cry. Yet I couldn't do that.

He hadno idea how the very thought of me not ending up with him frightened me. Often men come in and go, there was always some guy wants to date me, have a long term relationship with me, but I have never been interested in them. It's not the same. It's never the same. This world made no sense until he came along. In his arms I was complete. I needed not to worry or cry any longer. I found my purpose. I wanted to be the woman to take care of him and keep him companion. I want to love him until the day I die. "That's how I know I love you." I wanted to tell him that night. I wish that's I would have answered when he asked me "why do you love me?" I couldn't. I dared not.

How could I? This love lived in a dreamed future. This love did not have a home for this world. This love was the lost ship in the sea, it desperately needed a beacon to return shore. And only he had the key to the light house.

Saying Good Bye to a House

In my friend's soon to be demoed and rebuilt house with million dollar view perched on Portrero Hill with the zip code associated with the most VC dollar per sq foot, I surfaced things the house no longer needs: original sidings from turn of the century, door fixtures that can only be found in Urban Ore of Berkeley, and a curious San Francisco magazine  titled "The Oakland Issue." 

I say good bye to the house I've grown fond of - the green house that could have been a perfect pot grower haven but was actually simply used for orchid, the dungeon like garage that had several cool metal shop tools that weigh over a hundred pound each, a lonely Meyer lemon tree in the backyard, a leaking toilet, a white office chair that is reminiscent of it's owner's past life as a UCSF trained doctor, and an allegedly expensive Japanese painting that turned out to be Chinese, hanging on the wall. 

We form relationships in the most unlikely circumstances. In my case, I enjoyed this house because it's a convenient place to stop by and take a quick shower after a long run, and it's cool to just  hang out in the backyard and shoot the breeze with its owner, quirky and dorky, sophisticated and provincial, disengaged and entertaining. We talk about being left handed, Libertarian,  the difference between living in Boston and San Francisco, Is Rich Table really the shit or its pasta needing refinement to beat Perbecco? Why do men who travel a lot and hold prominent business positions meet women in bars and have casual sex like George Clooney in Up in the Air? Why can't we have a truly workable solution for universal healthcare? What's the right level of firmness for a biryani goat dish? And if I did help with plum jam making, can I get dibs for two jars instead of one? 

We often take things for granted - like a friendship that is built not on pretenses but true bonds over exercises and lack of interest for bullshit and games. Yet we forgo these precious connections that we build in life because we often are too busy chasing the next thing: be it a thriving career, a budding romance, an intrigue in a new friendship, a new cool thing to be obsessed about in an ever changing city.  We stop making effort. It always starts with one person. Then eventually the other becomes discouraged and less engaged. So just like that, in a blink of eye, those relationships that once built on enthusiasm and hope, a level of trust, dissolves into thin air, or fades into background. It is never what it used to be. 

Sometimes we don't know how much we'd miss it, until it's too late. Like this house. So now whenever I stop by, I say goodbye. But more so than that, I have staked claim to part of this house, in the form of those original turn of century door knobs. Unlike my may relationships with others. It takes that one last draw, often I'm the only one who's aware of that breaking point, when that decision is made, I stop caring. I stop making effort. And I vanish. By the time I resurface, I am distant, forgetful, cordial, and artificial. You no longer mattered.

As for our friendship with this house's owner, I remain cautiously optimistic. I have learned a lesson or two in my middle age. I no longer jump into conclusions. And I only give as much as I receive. 

Last person to cry for

I sat in the car until the time was 6 PM. I had to wait until it was sufficient enough of time passed before the metering mates were no longer trolling for more tickets.

He texted me to ask where I was. I arrived just a few minutes after.

After dinner we went back to his place where he took me. I told him that I loved him and he told me that he loved me too.

When the night was fallen I was going to leave but he fell asleep, and so did I.

We do this every time. Eat. Sex. Dinner.

I fall in love with this man each and every time.

This is going to be the end. I think. And I do not know how to tell him more than I already did. 

"I would love you until the day I die. Tell me that you want me to be with you. Tell me to take the leap of faith. Tell me to create this is complicated, integrated life that we so both deserve. Tell me that I should stop worrying about my hopes are all false. Tell me that we should be together. Tell me. And I will do. Tell me. And I will leave everything behind. To be with you."

But I did not tell him. I had never told him that way.

I simply left the next time. Kissing him good bye. Going about my day. When all is set and done, nothing would change.

I often cry. I often cry for him. for me. And if anyone asks me what I want out of life, if I was happy. I tell them I am. And I'm fine just the way I am. But I cry. I cry for the love I'd ever that was complete. I cry because we'd never be together. And I am certain that I cannot love anyone else, the way I love him. This is the last person I shall ever cry for.