What if Take 2

What if you are old and gray and sitting in a nursing home and you are asked by your great grand children a story you'd remember, and you say "once upon a time I met a girl, and I loved her and she loved me but we never managed to stay together. We lived separate lives until we died."
'What if they asked why not? And you say "because I was not sure until it's too late."

What if in an alternate universe I was standing next to the Christmas tree, holding hands, you and I, and you admire the tree and then to turn to look at me and say to me, "I love you so much thank you for being here with me always." I'd rub your shoulder and say to you, "I can't imagine being anywhere else but here with you. You are the best thing ever happened to me."

What if I have never loved another like you. What if when I close my eyes I can't see anything in front of me, behind me, next to me. What if this is what love really is and you are letting it all go wasted.

What if the only thing we ever did wrong is to stay apart, and not make a decision to find a way to stay together.

What if?

He said that holidays are hard for me, because I get introspective, restless, and last year, I asked to break up with him. He did not like that, so he said okay but he did not want to hear any more of it. He said that I wrote back almost immediately, or maybe a couple of days later, and asked to take all of that back, and I admitted that I made a mistake, and I did not want to be broken up with him, and I wanted just the way it was, and I asked him, what is that he said, he said, "I said okay, I said it was okay for you to be back with me."

I wondered, if my request to break up with him, and his granting of my request, broke him as much as it broke me. The threat of being no longer together, frightened him as much as it frightened me, and though he never let on, now, a year later, he'd bring it up, ever so casually, but it meant something to him too, my wanting to leave, made an impression on him, and he forever never felt as secure he once did with me, he thought I'd never leave, I was always his.

We spent so much time apart, and when I was apart from him, I used to think about him, so constantly, so much so, that I dreamed about him and weeped for my longing to be with him was so uncontrollable, that I knew deep in my soul, being with him was the only thing that ever made any sense to me at all.

He'd never contemplate leaving his life for me, his partner, and his children. I'd never dream of him leaving his lifestyle, where he answered to no one, where he doted his children, and travelled far and wide, and met up with whomever he wanted along the way, and had numerous sexual partners along the way, I don't think he could ever give that up. I knew that I could, as long as I was secure, and as long as I was loved, I could be loyal, I had proven to be loyal to one man for 10 years, until I met him.

I have been with him for more than 4 years, closing in on 5 and I never felt this way about anyone else.

I knew he would never do this, but I do it often, I weep. I weep until I have no more tears to dry and I have no more breathe. I think about what if's. I think about how he wrapped his arm around me, how he folded me in his arms, his torso linked to mine, and he just slept in that position, I stayed awake, unable to move for I was afraid of waking him up, and his heaviness made me hard to breathe. Yet I stayed motionless and let him. I know it was important to him that I was there, my being with him made sense the same way his being with me made sense.

Suppose, what if, if he believed, that I could make him the happiest man in the world, that I was the only thing that could settle him, make him happy, and no longer miss the adventures, and what if my love was the only thing he had never had  until he met me? What if we were meant for each other and we are the only type of love story the universe meant to create? What if I would make him happy, not just sexually but emotionally and intellectually? What if this was the person he's meant to be with?

Sometimes I weep for I was overwhelmed by the notion that there was some cosmic joke somewhere? What if the two of us knew this was right and we've spent five years apart fighting the urge to stay together, then we always come back to each other no matter what? What if then? What if every sign in universe says, don't do this to each other any more, this is what it means, this, you and he, are what the world needs, stop fighting it, stop, just stop, be together, forever and ever, you do what it takes to make it work, what then?

Would you ever listen to that? Would you?

Remember that first day

He showed me the photo. THE photo, the photo that started everything. April 1998. He said that's the VERY first day we met. "This is the first photo of our first meeting, the very first day. Then we got together the very same weekend." He continued down the memory lane for both of us. I don't remember anything because I couldn't understand why he kept that photo, why he found that photo, because after all, I did not remember anything at all. In the photo, we were both very happy, and as I looked back at him, he smiled, he laughed. I remembered that laugh, that beautiful smile. In his early days, he was very gorgeous, he would describe himself as "attractive." He liked women, and he had access to a lot of women. I think he generally dated down, as in he met and bedded women who were not as attractive as he, and many women would go crazy for him, like he was the best thing ever happened. I was not one of those women. I was flighty and less emotionally developed. It was only in the last four years, the fall of 2011 that when I remet him, we found each other, and perhaps for the first time,  I was his equal. he was smitten by me, and I was equally smitten by him.

He gave me presents. They were beautiful. Fun pencils, sun in a jar, and Alessi necklace. The necklace looked like a piece of art. He always had good taste.

I stopped writing about our trips. I should not have. But I was afraid of writing anything down, for I already love him too much. It hurts. It never stopped hurting because I know the love I had held for him had never stopped, it grew over time and now it felt very permanent and less anxious.

I was very upset with him when he asked me to take down our photos, and I was upset because I wanted the world to know that we are together, perhaps unconsciously I simply want some level of acknowledgement, for I have never loved anyone else like this since I was 22. But then he denied me. I was to always remain in the shadows, so that I could never be known to the world that I had loved him.  I thought that I'd let him go and move on but instead we grew closer. I told him that I couldn't do this seeing each other thing once a month, so we started seeing each other more frequently, and when we did not see each other, I asked him to call and he always called back.

Since September, I felt slightly more relaxed, and I don't believe that I would love anyone any more, and I don't believe that I could ever be loved like that, and neither one of could afford a change, I am finally okay.

The meetings we had were still infrequent, but I find that he started to talk to me more, about his partner, about his upcoming thanksgiving plan, and about everything else, like how he never wanted to change, and how was different and he did not want to be tied down, and now that he's a father, things have changed, and he still struggles with it.

When he was tired and sick, in the evening, he told me about his past, how he was an RA in the German house in Indiana University, how he had to go and sit in the shrink's office and listen to the girl who attempted suicide to talk about her fictitious life. How he became a father and everything had changed. How he still struggles with it and his relationship with work and being a parent, and how things have changed and now that he's older, and then when he woke up again in the middle of the night, he came closer to me and said to me, "I'm so lucky to have you."

"I love you." I'd say softly. He'd say, "What was that?" I would speak louder, and say, "I love you." And then he says "I love you too."

I lied in bed, and I listened to him talking and his mind wanders to so many places, he'd tell me that he's older but he is what is called a Puer Aeternus, and that he never thought he'd be a parent, and that now that he's older, he is less attractive and he did not have that same amount of energy anymore. He'd tell me that he's only seeing me, and I'd tell him that I think he still sees other women but he knew that it hurts me so he won't tell me that any more. I did not want to know, and I knew that in my silly mind, his love is the pure and complete and I could not tolerate the thought of him wanting to be another woman.

He would fuck me a number of times, and he says "I have never been turned on this much as I have with you." No matter how long it has been, he is still crazy about me, physically, and then there is something else about this now, it's like that we've been together for so long that I no longer remember a life without him.

He would tell me about our history, this time, and he retells our journey together, and my being with him and when I say, "Wow, you remember everything." He says, "I remember some things."

Perhaps it's from my writing, that he remembers and perhaps because I write to him so frequently and I write about our journey together so much that he now remembers.

Once he finished talking and getting tired, then he says, "we should sleep." I still have so many questions and I still want to ask a lot about him, and I remembered how I wanted to tell him, "I'd like to get to know you more," and yet, he seemed to have read my mind and he's started to tell me things about him.

I've known him for so long, yet I knew so little about him. After college, he told me that he went to work for Peters and Company, and had corporate apartment in D.C. Princeton and Boston. He went to MIT for grad school at age 24 and how he wished that he had delayed that journey and not gone to grad school until 5, 6 years later. He graduated from Sloan at age 26 and had been on the road for a long time by the time he finished grad school.

I recall our dinner just a few weeks ago, where he told me about his lives in Bergen, Norway, and then just a couple of weeks ago, when we had dinner in Philly, when I visited him in Philly, he told me about his living in Princeton. I started to piece his lives together. HOw could you have dated someone for four plus years and knew so little about them?

I think it's because I was so involved with him physically, that our interaction is so intense that we felt nothing about anything else and just isolated our lives to that moment that we were together.

I remembered as we started to talk, I began to realize how we much we were alike. We both make refrigerator pickles, we both like the same kind of herring and cod fish and fish oil, and how much we like the same kind of cheese and fish, and that we both had a thing for fermented things.

I would buy him herring from the Nordic House. I bought things from a German speciality store to bring to his mother, he said, "I'll bring it and tell her it's from you." I said, "who's 'you'? She's never met me. I don't even know if I'd ever meet her. I want to meet her but I don't think I'd have an opportunity. It's too real for me if that did happen. I know that I'd like her and I feel that perhaps she's a bit like me.

He would sometimes compare himself to my husband. And I know there are some similarities. But fundamentally I think we are very different people and my husband is very different from him. But I don't think he understands that my love for him is a very much driven by his desire of me. "The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man." And the real reason I love him is that I know that he wants me. And he's the only person who has ever wanted me that much. And the fact that he wants me, is an indication of that he just wants to fuck me. He often tells me that "I love fucking you." It's a indicator then his love is real.

I recall being in Philly, and when we fucked, he kept on saying "I love you so much." I do believe that I had never felt this type of desire from any men before.

Since August his birthday dinner I did not see him for almost a month. During that month I wondered if he thought it over and wanted to change to keep me or if he just started to miss me. We went out a few times, including him visiting me in my own house. I don't remember of it, but it would have been several times. He had invited me over and we spent a few hours in bed where I told him that I wanted to see him more and when he did not see me, I wanted him to call. Then he came to see me at my own house just before my trip to Norway. we went to dinner after my trip to Bergen, I brought him presents from his old stumping group. Then we talked more. We then met in Philly, and he took me out for dinner again. When he returned he cancelled our meeting but then we met again. So I asked him to call to catch up and he did.  He said that he wanted to talk to me too. One time he called me when I was out watching TV, and we just caught up. I think for him he needs to know that I don't want anything from him. While I know that I would like to have more, I have resorted to believe there is nothing he could give me and that permanent, profound sadness makes me less anxious. It makes me just be.

He tells me that he does not keep in touch with his ex'es any more, and that he is less of a jerk now that he's older. I told him that he's a nicer person now, and that the previous version of him, the playboy version of him, felt less substantial. He said that he was just dating. He liked women, and he dated them, and there was no implied commitment, and I told him that women in America are a bit more uptight and that they have sex and they think you should be exclusive. That was the difference. in many ways I don't feel that strongly about monogamy, I simply just wanted love and a relationship that makes me feel alive.

Once I understand him, that his perspective about women, and why he had a suite of relationships, and some sweet women perhaps got hurt along the way, I understand why I can love him and why he loves me. I think it's because I am not a jealous type and I love and understand him.

He says to me, when I asked why he has that photo, he says, "because one day we'd be together. It's the very first time we met." I wonder if history is made by accident. Here I was, in his photo, where he had kept, for 18 years. And we stayed friends. He always liked me. I had always thought that he was beyond my approach, and in middle age, we look like the perfect couple. We are good looking people now, and we look well suited. His shortcomings, his eclectic side, suits me as much as the normal side.

I stayed with him until the next morning. I didn't sleep well because he was sick. I think he might give me whatever he had and I was sick too. I did not care. I just wants to spend time with him. There has never been anyone who made me feel this way. I just want to take care of him. His desire for me, is what I desire the most of him. The rest pales in comparison.

I am not sure why I wrote down this. I have not re-read anything. The reason I stopped writing is that I want to forget.

I'm scared of all of this. He tells me that he came to visit me at my house. I gave him two German beers. And he met my puppy. We locked out the dog so we could cuddle. But that's not true. The puppy stayed with us as we made out. He called her sweetie. She liked him. Those things are the only things he remembered, and I have to try very hard to forget. I worry about remembering will make me love him more.

He lies next to me for some parts of the night. He embraced me and I lied next to him. I have no idea where this goes. I just know that it's been four years and more, and I still love him like the first day I met him.

And we now plan our summer vacation together, not because we did it intentionally. I just happen to be there when he's there.

And he asked me if I want to go to New Jersey with him. He wants to see me. He wants to be with me. He likes when I keep him company when he's away. I have no idea where this leads.

What do people do with the love story of their life time? Where do they go from here?

Anne-Louise-Germaine de Staël > Quotes > Quotable Quote

“The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man.”

Women feel empowered by the desire that men funnel into them. Whereas a man just wants to satiate his carnal desires, a woman's femininity - and therefore, IDENTITY, especially in a patriarchal society - is determined by how intensely men covet her. She's not attracted to the man himself, per se, but to the fulfillment she gets knowing that the man wants her. 

Dahlia O'Dell

Flower Garden

Girlfriend liked my suggestion and wanted to take her family over here this long weekend. I hit the panic button and sent a quick note over to her, "should we coordinate so that we'd strategically miss each other?" I liked my morning walk quiet and free of running into people I might recognize. Pleasantries are reserved for social events and not when you need to enjoy some of these pretty flowers on your own.

I take, apparently, decent photos of the flowers. Turns out it's not because of my photography skills or the iPhone 6, which I've already scratched, it's because the flowers are superbly mesmerizing, to the point that they felt unreal, mystical, massive, dazzling, and photogenic.

I taught him to say dahlia dell. He thought it was just some flower garden. Middle age straight men don't always know about flowers in general. They know the names of the pitchers for the Giants or the local pubs where sports are shown, but not the flowers. I told him that when I was a young girl, my grandparents who took care of me would put me in a stroller and take me to the city center park, 45 minutes each way, they spent every day in the park, watching the peonies and dahlias bloom. Peonies are a lot like dahlias, magnificent and statuesque, confident in its own beauty and are used to admirers, and they only last for a season and they are gone. They were the opposite of me. As a timid, nerdy and shy girl, and perhaps still, as a sensitive and fragile middle age woman, I was, and still am, insecure to a fault, and I linger way too long for my own good.

Dahlia garden induces awe. Splendid beauty in plain sight. A must stop if you were to visit the pretty nice open space that is called the Golden Gate Park that geographically separates the Sunset from the Richmond.

Best viewing season: late July to mid September.

Best time of the day: early Sunday morning. Remember it's car free day on Sunday in the Park. Tourists are still sleeping off their Saturday evening's bar crawl, and locals are too busy heading to brunch places, pastry shops, or play structures in the park with their children in tow.

The flowers are now in full bloom, like a ripe woman, they are going all out:  they reach their maximum seductress strength in early September. There are lots of butterflies and bumble bees hovering. However, and not surprisingly, no dogs are allowed. Perhaps it's for the best, I think my puppy Abby would have eaten it all if given the chance.

Near Break up

I lied on the grass listening to him counting the ways we were not right for one another. He could not come up with much. He thinks I did not want him enough.

I couldn’t even if I tried. He did not need to know that.

He wanted to try the no sex thing. Just friends. I said, “well that’s good but I’m out. I don’t want that you know that already.” 

He did not know what to say so I said, “let’s go. The sun is coming through the trees. It’s getting too hot.” 

We got up and I did not extend my hand to hold his. He was lost without holding my hand. I could tell because he knew that was not what he wanted.

I think he wants a bit more than what I could give him. “Something is off sexually.” He would say. I think I knew what it was. I’m too aggressive. He’s a Type B kind of guy but he wants to be in charge like everyone is. But I was once very aggressive, and when that ended, I was very laid back and he did not want to take the lead. Round and round we go.

We went to see flowers, then shopped at the Farmer’s Market, I was not happy to return that street. But he did not mind and I was trying to be supportive of it. I told him why I preferred the other neighborhood. But that was his neighborhood too. I couldn’t pick a worse location to date a guy.

He was looking at me, all pained. His eyes conflicted and I think he might cry. So I hugged him and said that I should get going. Packing everything up and leave. For good. I did not want this to end this way but there was nothing I could do. So I hugged him. The goodbye hug that came too suddenly, that surprised both of us.

“I had a lot of fun. I enjoyed this. This weekend. And many others before this. I don’t want this to end.” 

“Neither do I. We have a lot of fun together. There are many good things about us.” He began to back down on the imaginary break up.

In his imaginary world, I should be dating a marathoner, someone different than he. I knew because I began to get to know him. He was never really secure about this relationship. I think he suspected that I would move on one day anyway.

“But what if I don’t want anyone else?” I answered.

“I’m not going anywhere you know. I’m here. You do know that I care about you and I want you to be happy right?” He began to babble.

“I’m happy with you. Don’t leave me.” I began to plead.

“okay. I’m not leaving you.” He conceded.

I unpacked all those imaginary belongings I had scattered around his place.

He watched me cry. I cried like a baby. In this world, he was the only place that I felt safe and sound. He was the only one who I could trust. He was the person who was both my fan, my mentor, my father, my brother, my lover. 

He made the rest of the world seemed crazy, because when I was him, all I ever wanted to do was to enjoy the simplicity of it all. 

I had no one to count on. I had never been with a man who cared about my happiness. No one to kiss my forehead and tell me everything would be all right but him. 

In his arms I slept and slept night after night. I lost count on how many trips we’ve taken how many dates we’ve been on.

No one knew about us. Not his friends, not my friends. 

It’s self contained and untainted by the outside world.

I intended to keep it this way. 

“Promise me to stay with me.” I said.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He answered.

I knew what he did. He wanted to know that I would be affected by this decision. He tested me in his passive aggressive ways. He wanted to hear from me that I would not bail. 

No man had ever cared for me. They wanted what they wanted from me. They were ashamed of me, they hid me in the shadows. They disappeared from time to time. They were not forth front with me. They lied and cheated and they took from me. 

But he wanted me. It was really that simple. I chose him because he wanted me in his life.  And even then, we were always walking on tight rope. I was, anyway.

For now, we are okay. For now. 

Chase Ghost

Sorry internet for the delayed writing. It's not that I had forgotten to write, but I think more now and write less now.

A wise man said this to me once, "If you have nothing pleasant to say, say nothing at all."

I've been practicing that mantra. At work, in personal life, even when I'm alone. I try to think of a nice, pleasant way to describe things, a situation, an event, a person, and if that fails in my head, I think some more, and when all the thinkings are exhausted, and nothing good came out of that, I park it and move on.

It helps because I think anger is a wasted energy. Hatred too, for that matter. We all have to learn to move on from people, from situations and from our own past. But we all do that in different ways. Some men find women who are like their mothers, so that they could relive that trauma or abuse; some men find women who are totally different from their mothers, so that they could break free and be their own person. Some men had fond memories of their kind mothers, and they treat women nicely not for show or for pursuit but because that's how they feel towards women who reminded them of their mothers. At the end of the day, how you are and who you become as a man are tightly related to how your mother raised you as a child.

I hope to be a good mother to my son. Loving but not without discipline. I hope he's strong and confident and self sufficient. I hope he finds his mother loves him and gives him plenty of space to grow into a young man.

I have not succeeded in all of my endeavors. I failed pretty miserably in the adult love department. The only feeling that could describe how I feel is how humiliated it had made me feel. The man who I thought loved was not who he was, but beyond that, I am nothing to him either.

One moment he said that he loved me, the other he tried to erase me out of his life. He's ashamed of being seen with me, being with me, and he's ashamed of his desire for me.

I always thought that I could pick up the phone and talk to him, like that we were adults, but I couldn't because I realized that none of that made any sense. There was never any communications involved. I simply was not important enough. I had to believe that somewhere deep in his soul he loved me, or I had wasted my time all those years, but is it possible that I chose to believe it or I'd feel even like a bigger fool?

I think at some point, we are all just very exhausted. I'm exhausted from being so invisible and chasing a ghost. He's exhausted from all the anxiety I had given him. No one really needs this any more. I've been chasing a ghost. All is well in the end. Ghost vanishes. I'm left with nothing to chase. I'm returning to the normal. He's no longer in my life.

I purge images, emails and memories out of my head, body and soul, and in the end, I remember nothing at all. My undying love stay unclaimed and forgotten. He was not really there to begin with. His feelings, no matter how much I thought were genuine, were simply mood enhancers in the bedroom, declared by whispering into my ears just before he climaxed. Me feeling ridiculous at the end of all this was the only thing that was real.

Next time I run into him in those frequent streets and shared neighborhood, we are perfect strangers. 

Profound Sadness- Re baselined

Had not seen him for a while. He was waiting. He showed me his new running shoes. He pulled me in to kiss me gently. Then he pulled my panties off my stockings off and spanked me hard, leaving hand prints, He then entered me from behind.

Always the same sense of urgency, always the same way to fuck me. Always, the same. It's been nearly 4 years. It's been 4 years since we've been together.  The same romance. The same urgency, the same feelings, but deepened, like true love.

This feels like true love. A love story that has suffered it's fair share of headaches. A love story of a life time. I wished him to live a long time. He said, only if you live as long as well. What if he dies? What if I die prematurely? Can I go on? Can he go on? What if I would but I'd never be the same again? What if he would but he knew a part of him would be gone forever?

He held me after and told me how much he loved me. Thousands of my photos yet he still finds me beautiful. He has never felt this way before. He liked women, he likes women, but he loves me. He loves to kiss me, to fuck me, to talk to me, to go to dinner with me, to be close to me. When he fucked me there was a sense of urgency like he has not fucked for a while, or that he needed to be inside of me to feel real. There has been so much that had happened. I continue to struggle and he knows it too. He wants to know if I'd slept with others. I tell him no. He tells me that he's not been with other women. I don't believe him. I think he stopped telling me because he thinks that I would be hurt. He asked me if I would be hurt. I said, "yes." So he shielded me from that information. I told him that I knew he still beds other women. I knew because leopard does not change its skin. I know him well enough to know that he will always want to fuck others.

But he loves me and me only. If that's hard for others to understand, it's not that hard for me to understand. In truth, if and when I did fuck others, he was always at the top of my list. I'd drop anything for him.

"Why are you so good to me? You've always been so good to me." On this occasion, he asked that question. I said nothing this time.

"You know I love you. But I guess I have to show it." He adds. "Yes you do need to show me." I answered back.

In truth I know that I am now finally in the driver seat. I'm okay to let him leave me moving forward. I am okay with him no longer existing. I have seen the one outcome that I never thought I'd see, and that's the outcome that I don't exist in his life and he not in my mine, and I'm okay with it because in my looking glass, I saw not him with me in the end. I saw not him because my heart has been broken one too many times to accept the possibility that he could one day be mine.

In a way, when I don't look into my soul, and yes I do that when I finish yoga, I see a future, a happy one without him. But when I do look into my soul, I see profound sadness where he did not return to me as he was never mine.

I baselined myself. I have nothing but profound sadness.  And there, I sat. And waiting for sorrow, sadness and agony to pass over.

Love Affair of a Life Time

I had not seen him for 3 weeks. I did a short count, and it was just over three weeks. He had missed me, I could tell. He wanted to know where I was headed, I told him San Diego and he wanted to know whom I was going with.

For a man who did not interact with any of my friends, he surely knows a lot about them, or of them. I tell him everything. When I saw him, I naturally wanted to go down on him which he later would comment that many women did not like that. I used to wonder about how many women he's been with while dating me, but now it did not matter. I knew that he would date and that dating others would not result in the same outcome.

Surely enough, he told me that for some reason we are a perfect physical match, he finds me beautiful, that he will never meet anyone like me, not even close, is what he said to me. I think I believe him, there is no reason for him to lie about something like this. He has me. He knows that I love him. There is no reason to tell me all these things to keep me around. I'm around. He knows that too. He tells me these insanely romantic things because he loves me. He says that he likes being with me, my nakedness against his. He wanted to take me to go somewhere, in May. I think he will make it happen because I think on an annual basis he likes the idea of going away and having me there with him.

He shows me photos of him when he was a baby. I took a photo and he did not like it. I told him that it's for me and me only. One day he'll be old and I want to take care of him. And I want a photo of him when he was a baby. His mother made that baby book for him, written in German. She was a very Germanic woman, Bavarian, and I like my Bavarian man just so.

We laid in bed after he fucked me. As usual he tells me things. I liked that. I used to have so much anxiety around him. Last September was when it peaked. Then by January of this year I was finally to feel a sense of peace.

When I think of him, and wish that I could be with him, my eyes well up.

When we talked hypothetically if we were together, I told him that I might get bored. "Then you'd find another guy. I'd have to find a girlfriend. I don't want to find another girlfriend." He did not like that idea very much.

Today he told me that no one will ever love me as much as he loves me. I asked him why and he said because I know you so well. I know you the most. 

I WILL NEVER MEET ANYONE LIKE YOU AGAIN. NOT EVEN CLOSE. 

He said. He does love me and I know it now more than ever.

It's not the love one would experience day to day. But it's the only ever lasting love I've ever felt.

I told him imagine a day we'd be together. Finally. Be together. He could not imagine that. He just likes to spend time with me, from time to time. I want to spend time with him, day in and day out. Take care of him. Be his one and only.

You know how much this really hurts? I want to tell him that while he loves me, I fucking get heart torn out with the thought of him not with me. I HAVE NEVER LOVED ANYONE FOR THIS LONG.

Imagine a love affair of a life time. I once saw a girl whom he was affiliated with holding a sign that says "I want a love affair of a lifetime." She did not get that from him, sadly, he loves someone like me, but I think I might have stumbled onto the love affair of a lifetime.

Now all I could really do, is to walk away.

Sunday Afternoon

He walked with me, in his backpack, he packed my 5 inch heels, my Roots wallet and my phone. He carries them on his back so that I could be free of carrying anything at all. He cared about me that way, he also liked that I was free handed, so he could hold my hand and walk through the park.

He was tall and had long arms, I'm short with short arms, our hands barely touched, yet he held mine tight. When I saw him, I often rested my head on his shoulders, we embraced like that often before we were set out to do things.

I greeted him with little kisses, planted on his mouth, through his beard, beard that he grew just for me, for I liked men with beard, men with beard turned me on, I liked older men and he was older by only six years, yet he looked so much older, for I looked younger than my age.

Poppies and rhododendron were blooming in the park. We took side path, path less traveled, across the fields and onto Cole Street. He asked along the way as to whether or not I'd traveled this way, I said, "no", and he was satisfied. He liked to show me new things. I showed great ignorance around his neighborhood, for I had not been to this side of town much. My experience was mostly around hipper neighborhoods and yet his neighborhood breathed life. People were less transient. They set roots like he once did, and they never left.

He put our names on the board, the wait list was long. He used my name because it had 4 syllables and his only had one.  We waited in the shade under a tree and the wait was lengthy yet I did not care about the first thirty minutes. I enjoyed the sun and the warm Sunday afternoon, where he held me with his arms and occasionally kissed me by lowering his head, I felt his mouth on my forehead.

I knew he adored me though he'd never admit that.

At nearly 2 PM we were seated. He asked for a bloody mary and I asked for coffee. We sat across from one another in a small cramped space, and enjoyed our meal. Said very little of anything. We were so different, I spoke so much and yet he spoke so little. He asked several times if I liked my food. After food in my tummy I was visibly happier, and he took that as a sign of an approval for this restaurant. He knew how I liked the food just so. With him, dining was always adventure.

When I went to the bathroom he searched for change in my wallet and found a $10 bill and added it to the tab. When I returned he said that he had gone to my wallet and fetched $10. It's less than what I owed, but he often made sure I paid less. Sometimes he paid for me all together.

We took our leisurely walk to the bakery down the street and fetched sweets. He bought things for me and we then took our stroll back to the park, finding hippie hill and sat ourselves down and ate the treats.

I laid sideways, my head resting on his thighs. I told him that I was his girl. He was happy to see that. When I came out of the bathroom I caught him looking at me, making sure I knew where he was sitting, and when he knew that I had recognized he turned away, pretending that he was not worried. I knew he cared about me. In his ways, and that made me happy.

People asked me about him. All I could say was that he made me happy. He's not handsome, he's slim and tall, he's losing his hair, he did not have any fancy degrees, he had a boring profession, he was into playing music, he did not have a fancy car, nor owned any real estate, he was simply an old bachelor who had never been married and who was used to being alone.

Yet he took me in. We got up eventually to go home, his choice, not mine. We walked all the way to his house where we rested some more. Both naked and in bed, in his bed, my favorite bed, we fell asleep after sex, his hand holding mine. When I woke up I did not want to wake him, so I let him continue holding my hand, while I closed my eyes and listened to him breathing.

Such was a Sunday afternoon. It was the first and only afternoon like this I have had in nearly 20 years. I don't know who he was and why he came into my life. But here he was, the one and only who made me so happy and so content. I would trade a lot of my worldly possessions, to be with him.

All because he was the first person in my life, who took me out on a brunch, held my hands, and napped after.

Failure to obtain happiness

Under no circumstance do you ever admit failure. Failure not to obtain happiness but to feel happiness in your heart. The desire for happiness is there but you cannot feel it. The only you ever felt it was when you were in love with the man in question. Then you had to stop.

There is a PROFOUND SADNESS inside of me. When I realized that I would never be loved back the way I wanted to be loved back, I realized that I had failed. That gapping hole could not be patched. I knew because I was only in love once with another man like this in my early 20s, then when I shut him down I shut him down permanently and never looked back again. For years I could not feel much, every piece of emotion was just some random dots and you felt obligated to feel more but you couldn't.

When I saw him and started to talk to him, even just in a matter of hours I knew that we were linked somehow. He had thousands of photos of me, and he wanted more. He liked to collect photos. He liked to think we are from another decade, we met when we were kids. We reconnected when we were adults. We knew each other so intimately so perversely and we loved one another yet we were not together most of the time.

He's tired most of the time. Exhausted, with his children with his wok and sometimes with his friends. He wanted me to give him one thing and one thing only, sexual satisfaction. And now that I was more relaxed around him and demanded nothing in return, he was treating me like I was his confidant. He told me things. How he was annoyed by his mother, stressed out about her, how he was coparenting with his partner, that he respected her and there was a relationship, albeit not a romantic one. He liked to compare his relationship with her, the children's mother like my relationship with my husband. We both have a set of obligations. We both need to fulfill them.

He talked about his work, sometimes more dire than others, feast or famine. He talked about his business and how he was a majority shareholder of his company, essentially all of it was his. He worked hard, every morning waking up at 5 to work. And then when he was not working, he took his son to soccer, played with his younger man and signed up for different races with his older kid, who liked to run. He knew that I ran long distances, ultramarathons. He liked that about me.

We then talked about work. About what I did and things he did not know. I told him that I needed to hire a vendor to build training modules but I couldn't afford him. Our work world converged. He was interested in learning about HIPAA compliance. I told him what that was as he thrusted himself into me.

He liked to think about unusual things. He liked things that were unusual. He wished that he could fuck me when I was pregnant. I could no longer carry children. He liked me chubbier. He told me how beautiful I looked to him. When he fucked me he wanted to crush me. Like his entire weight was on me. He wanted to fill me with him. Like we were one.

He said that he had not heard from me. I told him that I had not heard from him either. Previously he'd go through a week without writing back to me. But now if he did not write back to me, I often stop writing back to him. A taste of his own medicine. I move on as if he did not exist. But I know that our body and soul were linked and he knew that I was waiting. So he would write and see if I could see him. I knew more about him. I knew that he felt bad that he was fucking others when he was on the road. He knew that it made me sad and thus it made him feel sad.

I did not tell him about my life, for it was not important in this context.

I often pondered if my chance to happiness is left and gone. My ideal life would have been with him. I knew how much I loved him. I knew how much I craved him. I knew this world would have made more sense if he and I were parents to two children, a boy and a girl. I knew he'd love them and gave them what he thought was to be the best for them. I knew that they would be beautiful.

But in this life, we have nothing. We each have our own children. We each were trapped in our own creation. We each loved each other. We each could not be together. I would never meet his friends. He would never meet mine. We only have each other. The secret would go to graves with us. And I was denied of happiness, and that's how my life shall be. I must go on. And pretend everything is okay. Find contentment and joy. Find other ways to live my life so that I could stop feeling sorry for myself. 

Profound Sadness

He arrived home. Tired. From flying. US Air. He said. With a transit from Charlotte. It was not an easy flight. He was up since midnight to get home by 11 am. He slept for two hours and woke up. She arrived just before 4:30 PM.

He had not changed. He would be fifty in 4 months. He was tired. He was the same with the exception of having just cut his hair. He used to be beautiful, she knew that. He's still beautiful. To her. he said he used to be better looking, always getting laid, always looking to get laid, but now he was older and was unable to spare time to think about getting laid. And people stopped paying attention to him anyway, he's just some other dude, some older dude.

She looked at him in that light. His eyes were squinting. He looked tired. He always seemed tired.

They spent a lot of time lying around, being tired. Sleeping. That's their M.O.

He was tired and unable to make decisions. So after sex they went to grab dinner. He wanted somewhere proper and quiet. He was interested in seeing what the Italian place offered but ended up with Sushi. She was more hungry than he. As of late, she had put on some weight, he had liked that about her. The heavier set of her. She wanted to lose more weight but that was difficult to accomplish. She tried to stay in shape and not worry about her weight gain.

He was talkative, and had a few things to say, both in and out of bed. She was more relaxed so that made him more relaxed.

He used to be so anxious around her. He's anxious about everything.  He said that's how he masked depression. She did not want him to be anxious about their relationship. She knew now how to manage. He reached over the table to say how much he liked that.

He walked her to the car after the meal. He kissed her and said goodbye to her. She said, after he was already heading to his door, "I love you." Loud.  She wanted to do something for his birthday. She wanted to go away. She wanted to travel with him to places.

She loved him and she needed him to be in her life, so that she could be replenished.

All her profound sadness, gone, when she's with him. When she's away from him, she sensed her sadness coming in. That loss, that permanent loss. How could you tell someone that you loved that person so much so that each separation created a scar in her unhealed wound? How could you tell that person that in her world he was the only one who's ever mattered to her and she loved him more than he'd ever know? How could you tell him that your profound sadness came from that girl who fell in love with him, so many decades ago and now back again, so many years later, she could never move on until he's no longer in her life?

She loved him. She's sad without him. She's profoundly sad when he's gone. And she had to find a way to move on. 

Wanting to feel loved again

When she laid on the floor finishing up her last fifteen minutes of yoga, she went to those places and she cried. When the lights were turned back on, she found her tears streaming down.

She's depressed and sad. Nothing to do about that. She was sad and depressed because for four years now he would not go away. The man who started all.

That man who was not her boyfriend but pretended to be for a long time, disappeared and reentered into her life like he belonged there. She did not know what to say so she did not say anything at all.

The man who she adored. The man who traded messages with her every day, the man who said "Good night Ms. V" every night to her on message. The man she began to care for. Lived alone all his life. And wanted her in.

He trimmed his beard. He now had shorter beard, a goatee. She liked it. He looked good. He grew his beard for her, for three months he did not shave. But he trimmed it now. He did not want to feel so uncomfortable any more.

He asked if she was interested in meeting his friends. She did not answer.

He wanted to know what they had was, and where they were headed. She offered no response.

She told him that she believed that she deserved no happiness, from a man, and no one would ever love her in a way she wanted to be loved back. When she said that she cried. She was heart broken for so long, no real relationship could make any sense to her any more.

She did not know what she had with this man, she only knew he made her happy. He was the first man who came along in her life who wanted to hold her to sleep. Who cared about her and who took care of her.

She made dinner for him. She went out with him. She planned a get away with him.

She really wanted to move on.

Even though her heart is so broken that it's beyond repair. She wanted to feel loved again.

But she feels like a fraud. "No one would love me. I don't deserve to be loved. I will never love or be loved again." She told this man. This man who was holding her to sleep every night.

In that child pose she lay, he hugged her all night. 

Nothing at all

When she arrive he was in a tense mode. She could tell because she had trouble finding parking and she had threatened to leave. So he finally came down and helped her. Sure enough a perfect spot opened up not far from his apartment.

She dropped her bag off and kicked off her heels.

In his office he made her go on all fours. Lifting her dress he started to fuck her as she arched her back. He was eager to do that. Before she was allowed to complain further he had fucked her so deep that she was about to come. So she did. And he was all of sudden limp as well.

When it was over, he kissed her and held her tight. That's how you greet your lovers after you'd be apart for a week.

They had a healthy sex life. She liked him and she liked being with him. He was an easy man to please and he was not a man with a lot of words. Still she enjoyed talking as long as he'd listen.

At 10:45 he went to bed with her. His bed was big and comfortable and she fell asleep.

When they woke up he said, I watched you sleeping. Deep sound sleep. Heavy breathing. He apparently watched her sleep. He must love her. She thought. But she did not say a word.

In the morning she put her body on top of his until he was hard. And she rode him for a long time.

When it was all over, he said, "My cousin's husband slipped on ice and died. He was only 59. Getting divorced. He became paraplegic, they asked her what he wanted and he chose to end his life."

She said, "He had nothing to look forward to."

He said, "Yes, maybe. If this happened to me. I'd die too."

She touched his head, and his beard. She did not know what to say to that so she said nothing.

She did not want him to go like that. She wanted to tell him that she was worth living for.

But she said nothing at all. He kissed her.

Once he told her a midwesterner joke. "Once a farmer loved his wife so much so, that he almost said 'I love you' to her."

That was his sense of humor. They rarely spoke about their emotions. They rarely do anything about that. They were so afraid of expressing themselves.

But when asked if he had missed her, he said, "yes." And he was silent for a long time. She turned around to ask him to kiss her. She then said, "I missed you" three times. He counted and then he said, "You must really do. Because you said it three times."

He took her walking in his neighborhood. They checked out the houses and the trees. They stopped by a house with red lights and an expensive looking red walled library.

She wants to tell him that she started to love him. But she was not sure what would left if she did that.

She was afraid of that. So she said nothing at all.

No longer hopeful

I fell in love once before this time. I recall the day I fell out of love. He looked quite a bit like B. He was 8 years older than me. I was 22 and he was 30. He was born in September.

I had never loved anyone like I did him. When he betrayed me, I was upset but I couldn't possibly just stop loving him. So I took my time. I let it sit. I continued like nothing had happened. I even talked about my issues with him. It seemed that we were getting closer and growing closer. I even went with him on a nice holiday to Jamaica. He proposed. I did not say no.

I loved him like we could restart after his betrayal. I loved him like there was no other way. But when I was apart from him, I grieved and cried and I sought others for distraction. Eventually, I stopped crying. I stopped feeling sad about it all. I stopped wanting to be with him. And one day the hurt stopped. I cauterized the wound. And when I was finally read, I told him. I remembered telling him that it was time to move on, and he thought we'd be together forever. He told me that he loved me and no other. I told him that it's time.

It always takes me a lot longer to get over someone.

I had cried and cried. I had felt sorry for myself. I thought I could be taken back. I thought there was no other way.

And one day I woke up I stopped grieving and starting to live.

I feel now that's the eventual outcome between B and me. I can feel it. He' the only adult love I have ever felt. I began to believe that I could never find someone to love me back. I began to believe B would never love me back the way I deserve to be loved. Then I started to believe B was using me. I stopped having hope. I cried over the loss of hope. I no longer see a future with B. I could no longer imagine being with B. He had hurt me so much so, that now it's all just inertia at work.

I told B that I no longer believe that person who could love me the way I want to be loved back existed. I stopped believing in him. I have lost faith in him and me. I no longer believed that he could give me what I wanted. I lost innocence once again. When all hope is gone, the only thing I could feel is calmness. It really is anti climatic. I had carried so much sorrow, so much sadness when the first love and I broke up. For years I could never recover. I was finally at a place where I could feel again. B brought all of that back and then just like the first man he destroyed it all. Now I have no hope no more additional sadness. Grieving is a lengthy process.

We must go on. At some point. That girl who loved once and then twice has died. What's left is a rational, highly productive person who's life is no longer complicated or filled with dream. It's all just reality show. No one needs to know, all of the sadness, one day it'll be all gone too.

There used to be such a woman

He came over. Unexpectedly. She wrote him off. Finally she wrote him off. Like he did not exist. But he did, and she knew it too.

She had wanted to tell him this:

"I loved you. With all my heart. I thought I wanted a future with you. I thought if I just tried hard enough, I'd win you over. Like you'd be mine, completely. We'd have a future. But I've tried three plus years, I have tried, over and over again, but I failed. I have never loved another man like I have you; I have never tried as hard as I have you, yet here we are. All broken. I'm broken. I cannot be put back again. My heart is permanently broken. If I had felt any sense of weakness in wanting to still be with you, I remind myself how betrayed I felt when I learned that the week I wanted to go to you, to spend it with you, and to celebrate your birthday with you in another town, you instead shacked up some other woman you don't even care, and had sex with her over and over again. After I've sent a bouquet of fruits and chocolate, delivered to your work. After you've sent me video of you opening it and be delighted by it, yet, you fucked another woman. All week. You told me that. After, many months after. You hid the fact you had another child, I get all that. I understand why you did not tell me now. I asked you if you'd be willing to introduce me to your child's mother. You told me that she'd be devastated. What about me? Do you think I have no feelings? Do you ever consider that I might be devastated too? Do you even care at all about me? Do you think you could just betray me over and over again and expect me to take you back and love you unconditionally? Everyone's got a limit. I have reached mine. That's why I fell back. I had nothing, no hope, no expectation of you. I always love you. You are my first true love. I love you like you are my own skin and bones. I love you and I'd do anything for you. But I cannot suffer any more. So I severed the emotional me from the rational me. I had to let go of all my hopes. There is nothing left but the day to day, the occasionally booty call, the occasionally passion, the little bit of staying together, naked, in bed, and pretend everything is a-okay. I've given it some thoughts, I've concluded I don't deserve to be loved the way I need to be loved. I don't deserve it. There is no one out there for me. I don't want you like I used to want you either. I want nothing from you. I will focus on things that I can control. Things I can improve on my own. There is no beginning. And there is no end. I'm fine with it now. I'd like to stay that way."

But she gave him a different version of it. A much lighter version.

He hugged her, naked, in bed, he said, "I love you. I love you. I adore you. I will never get enough of your body. I will always want to fuck you. Even when you are old. I love your body. Your scent. You have a scent. Around your neck. It's sweet. I like it. That's how your pussy tastes. I like that too."

She does not understand why that is. She has been told that she had a scent. He liked hers. He misses hers. She missed the way he smelled too. She knew, deep down, this is the only man who would transform the way she smelled. He was a good that way. He brought the best part of her out, and he brought the worst part of her out as well.

He wished that they were never apart. When they were younger, they dated, but then they drifted apart until 15 years later. She told him, "I know why. You told me that you'd see me in two days, but you never called me. I was young. I had options. So I wrote you off." He said, "It was because something came up." She said, "No. I was warned of you. You were a player. I didn't want my heart to be broken. So I never followed up with you. I just decided it was time to move on."

They lay there afterwards. All spent and satisfied. He then had to get up to leave. She asked what he was doing this weekend. He said that just work. Kids stuff.

She was leaving for work the next day. She wished that he could come. He then leaves the following week. For the same state.

She did not to ask him when they'd see each other again. She knew better to have any hopes at all. She knew also time has come to pull back like she once did in her twenties. Except this time is harder. But at the same time, she understands herself more to know she's much more deliberate this time.

For she fell in love with man and he was her first love. But first love is just that. It's the first but very rarely the last. She knew that as well.  

Good night sleep

When she saw him, he said, softly, "I'm tired, I've not been sleeping."

She looked at him, naturally, leaning her petite frame against his, "But why?"

He said, "I don't know. It's been a couple of days. I think I'm coming down with something."

He looked concerned.

He would not kiss her. For he was worried about getting her sick.

She just wanted to be held.

So he held her.

"Can we order in tonight?" He asked.

"Sure." She did not care to walk that evening. She was surprisingly, tired as well. She did not tell him that she's not been sleeping well either.

He asked her to search for a restaurant using her app. She had a few. But she could not decide. So he called their favorite Thai place. They delivered.

She thought to herself. This reminded me of my ex husband and me. Living in New York. Even this apartment looked like her apartment in Midtown. Big bay windows, which she liked, two large bedrooms. Large living room, a small dining area, and a useful galley kitchen. Nothing special, but surprisingly functional. Hardwood floors. Of course hardwood floors.

He made her wearing slippers. Red ones. He bought for her. She did not like them. But then she learned that he did not like the way she walked, or rather, stumped. He was a quiet man. He prefer her to be quiet, light weight, tiptoed and never wear shoes inside. He did not like it when she screamed as she orgasmed either. She was surprisingly easy to come when she was with him.

She talked non stop when she was with him. He never did talk a lot. Eventually she stopped talking much around him either. He liked to read news. He checked the weather. He surfed the net. He read non fiction books. He was not very talkative. He was a very simple man, she's decided. He liked to grab her ass, that was one thing that was unusual about him. That part did not add up. She'd say, while maintaining largely satisfied with their relationship.

The food came sooner than she had expected. She and he ate, at the dining table, quietly. He and she discussed about the food, the spiciness of their dishes and the quickness of the delivery.

It was less than a mile on foot. They had done that walk many times over.

They brushed teeth and got into bed at 10:30. It was his bed time and it was too early for her. She lied awake while he fell asleep. Holding her hand in one hand and cradle her tummy in another.

In the morning. His alarm went off. He had to move her car by 7:30. Construction was going on and he was worried about her car getting towed. He arrived back and got into bed again. She was half asleep, she said, "I did finally sleep well. Please sleep with me. We need to sleep together more." He agreed. "Yes, I finally got a good night sleep too. I did not want to get up at 7 to move the car." He returned to bed, embracing her. "You must like me. Will you miss me?" She asked in one breath.

He was to leave town to go home for his father's 90th birthday He's the youngest of the eight. "I will miss you." He laughed. Then he said. "I do like you." She was satisfied. As long as he maintained that status, she could handle. Just not love. Love she could not do.

"Did you sleep okay?" He asked of her as she was drifting back to sleep This was the only man who actively took care of her and made her feel she was thought of, and often.

No one else did that for her. She liked that. She also liked how she could not figure out what it was that attracted her to him. It was not his looks though she liked his frame. Tall and very lean. It was her gut instinct. He brought her flowers the first night they went out. He was the only one who took her in and gave her what she needed: attention, adoration, and a good night sleep.

the merrits of sleeping

I find that the most comforting thing in life is certainty. I am certain that I'm not going anywhere. I'm certain he will not leave anyone for me. He is not mine, for instance. I'm certain I like the things they are. I am certain of all that.

And then, I'm certain I have an emotional connection with T. I have a fun interlude with N.

And I have nothing more to ask for but a good night sleep. Which T could provide for me.

And there is not much else beyond that.

Work. Work out. Sex. Sleep

There is no end to a beginning

I've officially sunk into a depression. Call it depression or an awakening, I don't care. but I no longer hold any hope. When you finally let your heart die, it is never a quick death, it's a slow and uneventful death, when you stop hoping, when you realize that there is nothing left for you, but to move on, to try to figure out what it is that you want, then you realize there is not much else out there after all.

Gone were your sexual intrigues, gone were your adventures, gone were your enthusiasms, gone were your faith. You have saturated your life, you yearn nothing, you wish for nothing, gone were the rest of this world. Gone were your ways, gone were your life, gone were the reason you were alive.

I always thought that if and when I stop loving him, I would die and wither, but I did none of that. It just ended. Like if I don't ever see him again, or write to him again, or hear from him again, I'd be okay.

I have done everything I could, and loved him and I got nothing in return. He was no one that I had recognized, and I was no one that I could recognize.

Days become weeks, weeks become months, and eventually months become years.

Life is like this. One moment, I'd do anything for that person, one moment, you could hardly recognize who you were, and who he was.

My sadness is so profound that I could not function in public, but I enjoyed 1:1 interface.

Enter T. T was an interesting person. He's a lot like M in some ways. I found solace in my interaction with T. I like sleeping with him. We do walks. Long walks in Inner Richmond, eating out or just walking. Going to the beach. Ocean beach. He plays music. He has a lot of friends. He introduced me to his friends. They like me. They were happy for him. He was happy to have me. They think I'm good for him and good to him. I even get a key to his apartment. I get to stay over whenever I want. I'm his girlfriend, for all intents and purposes. I cried in his arms, I told him everything, and I am not looking for anything, not even an exclusive relationship.

Enter N. N is like my twin. He's beautiful, and laid back, smart and unassuming. We do so much together that we might as well be married. I spend weekends with him. I talk to him on the phone. He's also tall and thin. He knows I'm not interested in a relationship but we still hang out.

Both men and I are not physically involved. We just simply do things together.

I like that. I like that I can be who I am, and I can keep my space.

The world is not real or hopeful any more. I don't want anything from anyone. I turned off calls from other people. I have no interest in socializing with any others. I like being at home. Alone mostly. I like being left alone.

I hope to never hear from MB again. I would like to simply disappear. Like the old me never existed.

I finally learned why it was so easy for me to move on. I severe my past. I simply act like I don't remember it had ever happened. And when enough distance and time passed, when I could breathe again, I would remember that version of me, filled with hope, and thought love could last forever. Love could conquer all. Love did nothing of that sort. Love simply disappointed and hurt and destroyed that old me.

In therapy

I'm content. For a long time now I've been struggling with many aspects of my life, mostly related to relationships, and I'm finally content.

My therapist thinks that I have a lot of energy and that I tend to light up the room, and that if I want to maintain relationships I need to not be all so interesting but be more interested. That I should tailor my behavior with different people. Little does he know, I've already done that. I do it regularly, but I also need to feel that I can be myself.

I'm not myself when I'm with T. He takes good care of me but I think he is too quiet and subdued. N is very energetic like me but he's also very self centered and I don't feel the same sexual chemistry with N even though technically he's my type. T is not but I like his personality more. I get along better with subdued midwesterner who speaks very little. N and I can talk all night. He's like my best friend.

I used to think MB was the one. I loved him. I had never loved someone for that long. Then when I learned that he had another child with the same woman, and when I pressed about being introduced to his friends, he bulked. He was worried about hurting his children's mother's feelings. On the other hand, he has no idea how much he has hurt me by saying that, and he in fact has showed his hand. All those years that I believed that he loved me, instead, he loved others, certainly not me, he lied to keep me around, so in the end it became very anticlimactic, all those deception, for what, so that he could continue to get laid by me?

It felt so rather pitiful. After he returned from Vietnam, after I learned that he had another child, I lost my desire to be with him. It's not that I stopped loving him, it's that I stopped hoping. There was never a future with him. He chose not to be with me. Since then, I stopped seeing him as someone who I loved. I loved a version of him, I did not love him. He was never mine to begin with. There was nothing to fear. I never had a chance.

The therapist asked me if I was seeking and searching and I said, yes, I am searching. I wish, I wish so hard, one day a man will love me, and take care of me, and show both emotionally and physically he desired me. He then said, "what would you do if he is there what if you meet and find him?"

I looked at him, and I said, "I don't think I deserve to be loved. I don't believe anyone like that exists for me." He wrote down notes.

This is what remains to be true. I'm thoroughly, 100% heart broken. I stopped believing in love. I honestly believe no one would love me. T sometimes shows that he feels for me. Like he likes me more than just like. N is very dependent on me. But I don't believe they can love me. I don't believe anyone can love me.

I stopped dating. I don't want to date any more. I keep on getting propositions by men, but I think it's because they just want to have sex with me. I don't care for that.

So I stopped having sex with men all together.

I don't believe that a man who desired me, who loved me, who showed physically and emotionally that he was close to me, and who wanted to spend time with me, existed. I believe that my opportunity was gone. I had been cheated, and violated and hurt by MB and I loved him so much. So now there was never going to be a chance for me any more. If I tried so hard to will a different future and failed, what can happen now?

I remain positive with my life. But I have stopped hoping, searching and I have stopped my heart from bleeding.

All is well now you see.

All is well when your heart is permanently shut. 

going to bed

At half past ten, after we had taken our usual walk from Clement street back to his apartment, we went to bed.

It was easy to fall asleep with this man. He's very thin. He wraps his body around mine, he touches my hair, calls me names and then we go to bed. 

Book, reviewed

I finished reading Dept. of Speculation. About this couple, the husband has an affair, the wife's heart is broken, she slowly and gradually prepares for an ending but the ending does not come, and eventually they let things pass. She cried and cried, expecting the world would end, but it did not, eventually they moved on.

It was not a typical ending. It was an ending crafted for a purpose, to tell a story, to tell a story that the affair girl did not get what she wanted. The wife gets to keep the husband, and the family, and added a puppy to boot. The marriage stays intact, the man never leaves his family for anyone.

I think about this and I think about you and me. How much I loved you once, and how much I wanted you to be mine. How I'd done everything and anything to be with you, and how much I thought I could do without you, and then gradually I thought how little of you, found others to replace you and then one day you were back in my life again, in sort of imaginative way you were back and you were in life again, taking up just such a small corner, like you really did not exist, but somehow you did.

I would never love again, not in that way.

I would never feel the same again. Not in that way.

I can mask for as long as I could. I will try the hardest. But I don't think I'll succeed. I have a family. You have a family.

And there is nothing more and nothing less. I'm not yours. You are not mine.

And no this world did not end when I lost my faith in you. No words needs to be uttered. I know. You know. We have nothing to begin with. We have nothing to end with.

The business of missing you

He writes, “MIss you. Miss ya. Miss you. Miss ya.” 

Not my problem that you should part the moment we met. Not my problem that you leave me when we just started to get to know one another. Not my problem that you found me, surprisingly easy to get along with, emotionally distant but kind and generous. 

I’m lonely. The more I’m out there, meeting people, meeting you, the lonelier I get. Nothing can cure me. I’m not alone, but I’m lonely. 

He sends her pictures of his travel. He claims that he’s making snow. In the chateau. In Paris. In the haute alps. He speaks French. He signs his letter bises. He calls her by her nick name. But he signs his own name in its entirety, though she’s given him a short name as well. Super Snowman. The superhero who is good at making snow. Who made snow everywhere for everyone who loved snow. Like she.

I’m terribly lonely. I want to be held. To curl up next to you, anyone, really, to have my hands be held, my face be kissed. To be told that I mattered. To have people make time for me. To give me the attention I desperately seek. To tell me that everything will be okay. To love me as I deserve to be loved. To stop abandoning me. 

I don’t believe you understand me. I don’t believe in going back. I shut that door a long time ago. I closed me up. A part of me needs to die. That girl who had all the faith in the world, that girl who wanted her lover to love her back, to give her an alternate future, the lover who would not disappoint her, does not exist, the lover who could actually be there for her. The lover who could wake up next to her and buy her a simple brunch, on a Saturday. That lover who supposed to be there, was never there for her. That was the old me.

He wants to return home. He tells her that he’s headed to Prague. He’s leaving Paris and headed to Eastern Europe. He misses her and wants to be home. So that he could see her again. The day he was leaving, he sent her messages at the airport, on the plane, and told her that he missed her. The entire trip, he’s been telling her how much she is missed. He has no idea how this relationship will evolve but he wants her to be his. That evening she poses for photos. He grabs her and kissed her without warning. He wants her because she’s beautiful. She’s stunningly beautiful. She is no longer young but she looked like she could be still in her twenties. He liked that about her. The youthful look, the way she laughed like she’s never laughed before, the silliness of her laughter that carried and made his house shake, and then when he asked her what happened to you, why don’t you want to have a real relationship? She says, with much difficulty, “I don’t believe that I deserve to be loved.” There you have it. He thought to himself. “I knew why she is the way she is. She’s so afraid of being hurt. There is a mask she’s wearing. I want her to be vulnerable like the rest of us. I want her to come out of her shell. I want to get to know her.” 

He writes to tell her that he wants to return home so that he could see her again.

I don’t know who I am. I have let go of part of me. I wanted to cry all the time. Then when I let go, when I buried her, I stopped crying. If heart break is like this, may this be the last one. I’m done breaking. I shall amend.

A dream

t was wet. A man in a weather proof coat arrived home, he had just taken a largish size dog to a park nearby and he removed his wet jacket and hang it on the wall. A woman rushed in. She was complaining that earlier, when she ran in the park, there ought to be some special fuel added to her shoes, so that she could run faster, and increase stability. As of late, they had invented a special fuel that one could add to trail running shoes to increase performance and reduce slippage during severe weather conditions. She ought to buy a new pair and test them out, she said. The man took her hand and led her to bathroom, and told her that she should shower immediately. She was slightly resentful of being told what to do, even though he was right.

As she was turning on the faucet, she remembered that the cake in the oven was about to be done. So she told him to check. It was not a cake per se, it was a bread pudding of a sort. But he did not correct her.

Five more minutes and it will be done. He said. The house was filled with the aroma of freshly baked goods: chocolate, pecan and molasses.

The rain had picked up. A storm was coming.