When it's all over, he was changing sheets. He informed me that he had a guest over the next evening. I straightened the sheets with him. Pulling the old sheets out and putting on the new. We chitchatted in the calmness after a heated love-making session. "In France, the pillows are all in square shape. I like the feel of your pillowcases. They have small patterns in the fabrics. They reminded me of mine." I told him. The windows had been open. He left them open to air out the apartment. To let the smell of fresh sex to escape. The comforter's cover felt like the ones I had bought in my French house. That 1800 farm house was mostly decorated with white furnishings. I chose a monochromatic color scheme because the house was largely white or gray. French white with window covers painted in gray. White burgundy stone slap floor on some section of the house and dark wooden floor on others. My favorite bedroom was the third one: it overlooked at the canal and the lavender meadow. It was not a large bedroom, with tilted ceiling, but I liked it nonetheless. I imagine he would too. If he ever wanted to come with me.
Earlier. He told me that he thought I'd break up with him. I was surprised by his comment. I asked him why. He said that I was no longer happy with him. That I wanted to move on. To form a relationship where it was more than he could ever give me. In the darkness he did not see me crying. He failed to recognize one important aspect of the equation. I couldn't move on unless he let me go. I couldn't leave him if I knew he wanted me. He said, "But I do want you." He kissed me to assure me. My love for this man, this man approaching middle age, was the only romantic love I had ever felt for another man. He represented everything I ever wanted from someone: kind, gentle, loving, passionate, intense, open, and yet, emotionally distant.
When he was getting ready to leave, I waited at a chair in the living room, sitting and waiting. I couldn't stop staring at him. He's beautiful to me. Breathtakingly beautiful regardless how old he would become.
I feared him leaving me, thus I had planned a future without him to test that scenario out, like an earthquake drill practice. He built sims for living, and it was not unlike that. In my head, during my depressive state, resulted often by his prolonged physical absence from my life, I often created a simulated environment, a mental state where he no longer existed in my world, and in that environment I experienced a life-like heart break, each time the experiment felt more real, and his eventual departure felt more imminent. In that state of being, I couldn't sleep, eat or function. I forgot how to breathe. I cried by my sorrow of losing him forever, and I wondered if there was ever a way to come out of it. I knew, no matter how strong I was, when he eventually no longer desired me, when I actually had to pick up my pieces and move on, I would not be devastated, because I'd have had enough of this drills, these simulations. I would simply cease to exist at a certain level. I would shut down that side of me permanently: passionate, funny, alive, and in love. I would resort back to the lifeless machine that did things to keep the engine running efficiently, but without a soul.
I had never felt this way until I met him, the words of "heart break" or "passionately in love" felt like a foreign words only used in cheesy romantic novels or coming of age movies. I laughed at those sentimentality, it was child play. I believed no grown adult could ever felt that way. That was until he came along.
He thought that I'd move on one day, to find someone else to love, to start a complete new life with. In his imagination, the other person's presence in my world became more solidified, he took shape, he was more real than ever, and he resorted to believe I'd eventually leave him.
I asked him what his desired state was. "I want you to be happy. And I want you to be happy with me." He confessed while holding me. It was difficult for him to admit that, to admit that he wanted me to be happy, but not to be with anyone else, but to be with him. He doubted that he could make me happy. And in a sense, he had resigned to believe that lead to my eventual departure. I moved my body so that I was ridding on top of him, with my full breasts dangling in front of his face. He sucked on my nipples as I addressed his concern. "It does not take much for me to be happy with you. I just a bit more communication. I want to know that you still care about me. That you still want me. When you stopped responding to me, I thought you no longer wanted me."
Once when I was holidaying in Ubud, Bali, every night I swam in the infinity pool. The garden was filled with plumeria flowers, night blooming jasmine and passion fruit. I often wondered, as I stared into the sky filled with twinkling stars, what he was doing, who he was with, and I wondered if one day we'd stop feel this way about one another. The insecurity we felt for each other, the permanent longing, the sense of completeness when we were with one another, would it all go away? Often I was touched by my own softness in my heart, my desperate yearning for his love, and my sadness for not able to be with him on a more regular basis, that I'd feel so much pain in my chest. Oe moment I was looking into the sky, another my face was covered with tears. I couldn't believe that after that many months and years had passed between us, I still wanted him, loved him, desired him as if I just had met him.
Thirty six months and counting, the butterfly in my stomach never went away. That evening I wrote "Eternal Sunshine of Spotless Mind," a short story about him and me, because I couldn't believe that any relationship could last this long and still feel brand new, yet there I was.
As I once again laid next to him, I told him, "I don't care that I don't know much about you. I don't know where you grew up. What you did when you were young. Did you grow up in corn fields? What was your childhood like? I never asked you any of these things. I don't care that I don't know you at all. I know enough to know that you love me. Do you still love me?" I asked.
He hugged me tightly, "I love you so much." He had not changed, alas, I had worried for nothing.
Like he feared of me breaking up with him, I feared that he'd abandon me and move on. I couldn't believe that he could love me the way he did when we first met. I couldn't believe that he had not gotten bored of me. I couldn't believe that my love could be returned.
How could I tell him that he ought not to fear? I would never be with another, as long as he desired me.
He looked tired. He looked like he had a long day. He changed his flight to be with me. He wanted to see me, no matter how limited time he had. Time, always stood still when I was with him. Time, or lack thereof, always separated us. Time, was fleeting. Time, the true commodity he had very little of.
As he prepared to leave, he cracked more windows open, the bathroom window that faced the backyards of the other houses and the bay in the distance.
We parted ways. He said that he'd be busy next week, after being gone for two weeks, he needed to be doing some child care duties. I wondered idly if those duties involving going out to eat or having a break in the park, or if he could slot me in, but I did not want an answer I already knew. "Could I see you?" I asked. "I'm busy. But I'm sure I'll find some time." He said.
I knew better to ask if he really meant it.
A very long road ahead, indeed. I'd been on it for the last many years. I did not know if I could handle that level of absence. How he could be one moment excited to see me and another moment radio silent? I knew what I always knew. I had never loved another like I did him. I did not have a choice in this road. I chose him and the whole him. He was perfect for me, as I was perfect for him.
In a road that filled with uncertainties, love was the only thing that ever mattered. I was stumped. Finally.
Earlier. He told me that he thought I'd break up with him. I was surprised by his comment. I asked him why. He said that I was no longer happy with him. That I wanted to move on. To form a relationship where it was more than he could ever give me. In the darkness he did not see me crying. He failed to recognize one important aspect of the equation. I couldn't move on unless he let me go. I couldn't leave him if I knew he wanted me. He said, "But I do want you." He kissed me to assure me. My love for this man, this man approaching middle age, was the only romantic love I had ever felt for another man. He represented everything I ever wanted from someone: kind, gentle, loving, passionate, intense, open, and yet, emotionally distant.
When he was getting ready to leave, I waited at a chair in the living room, sitting and waiting. I couldn't stop staring at him. He's beautiful to me. Breathtakingly beautiful regardless how old he would become.
I feared him leaving me, thus I had planned a future without him to test that scenario out, like an earthquake drill practice. He built sims for living, and it was not unlike that. In my head, during my depressive state, resulted often by his prolonged physical absence from my life, I often created a simulated environment, a mental state where he no longer existed in my world, and in that environment I experienced a life-like heart break, each time the experiment felt more real, and his eventual departure felt more imminent. In that state of being, I couldn't sleep, eat or function. I forgot how to breathe. I cried by my sorrow of losing him forever, and I wondered if there was ever a way to come out of it. I knew, no matter how strong I was, when he eventually no longer desired me, when I actually had to pick up my pieces and move on, I would not be devastated, because I'd have had enough of this drills, these simulations. I would simply cease to exist at a certain level. I would shut down that side of me permanently: passionate, funny, alive, and in love. I would resort back to the lifeless machine that did things to keep the engine running efficiently, but without a soul.
I had never felt this way until I met him, the words of "heart break" or "passionately in love" felt like a foreign words only used in cheesy romantic novels or coming of age movies. I laughed at those sentimentality, it was child play. I believed no grown adult could ever felt that way. That was until he came along.
He thought that I'd move on one day, to find someone else to love, to start a complete new life with. In his imagination, the other person's presence in my world became more solidified, he took shape, he was more real than ever, and he resorted to believe I'd eventually leave him.
I asked him what his desired state was. "I want you to be happy. And I want you to be happy with me." He confessed while holding me. It was difficult for him to admit that, to admit that he wanted me to be happy, but not to be with anyone else, but to be with him. He doubted that he could make me happy. And in a sense, he had resigned to believe that lead to my eventual departure. I moved my body so that I was ridding on top of him, with my full breasts dangling in front of his face. He sucked on my nipples as I addressed his concern. "It does not take much for me to be happy with you. I just a bit more communication. I want to know that you still care about me. That you still want me. When you stopped responding to me, I thought you no longer wanted me."
Once when I was holidaying in Ubud, Bali, every night I swam in the infinity pool. The garden was filled with plumeria flowers, night blooming jasmine and passion fruit. I often wondered, as I stared into the sky filled with twinkling stars, what he was doing, who he was with, and I wondered if one day we'd stop feel this way about one another. The insecurity we felt for each other, the permanent longing, the sense of completeness when we were with one another, would it all go away? Often I was touched by my own softness in my heart, my desperate yearning for his love, and my sadness for not able to be with him on a more regular basis, that I'd feel so much pain in my chest. Oe moment I was looking into the sky, another my face was covered with tears. I couldn't believe that after that many months and years had passed between us, I still wanted him, loved him, desired him as if I just had met him.
Thirty six months and counting, the butterfly in my stomach never went away. That evening I wrote "Eternal Sunshine of Spotless Mind," a short story about him and me, because I couldn't believe that any relationship could last this long and still feel brand new, yet there I was.
As I once again laid next to him, I told him, "I don't care that I don't know much about you. I don't know where you grew up. What you did when you were young. Did you grow up in corn fields? What was your childhood like? I never asked you any of these things. I don't care that I don't know you at all. I know enough to know that you love me. Do you still love me?" I asked.
He hugged me tightly, "I love you so much." He had not changed, alas, I had worried for nothing.
Like he feared of me breaking up with him, I feared that he'd abandon me and move on. I couldn't believe that he could love me the way he did when we first met. I couldn't believe that he had not gotten bored of me. I couldn't believe that my love could be returned.
How could I tell him that he ought not to fear? I would never be with another, as long as he desired me.
He looked tired. He looked like he had a long day. He changed his flight to be with me. He wanted to see me, no matter how limited time he had. Time, always stood still when I was with him. Time, or lack thereof, always separated us. Time, was fleeting. Time, the true commodity he had very little of.
As he prepared to leave, he cracked more windows open, the bathroom window that faced the backyards of the other houses and the bay in the distance.
We parted ways. He said that he'd be busy next week, after being gone for two weeks, he needed to be doing some child care duties. I wondered idly if those duties involving going out to eat or having a break in the park, or if he could slot me in, but I did not want an answer I already knew. "Could I see you?" I asked. "I'm busy. But I'm sure I'll find some time." He said.
I knew better to ask if he really meant it.
A very long road ahead, indeed. I'd been on it for the last many years. I did not know if I could handle that level of absence. How he could be one moment excited to see me and another moment radio silent? I knew what I always knew. I had never loved another like I did him. I did not have a choice in this road. I chose him and the whole him. He was perfect for me, as I was perfect for him.
In a road that filled with uncertainties, love was the only thing that ever mattered. I was stumped. Finally.
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