You tell someone you love them when things are going beautifully, and they believe you and reciprocate.
You tell someone you love them even when things are falling over your heads like the Roman Coliseum in an earthquake, and they shake their head and wonder how that's possible.
You tell someone that you will love them - and only them - long after everything is over, and they'll call you a liar.
But I submit that this is only them projecting their own limitations, because they themselves could never love someone to that level, therefore rendering the concept of Forever Love impossible - even in the face of self-imposed loneliness. Which, in their head, makes you a liar.
And yet, here I am.
It's been two years since her and I touched each other. And I've yet to be with anyone else, in any capacity. Sexually, romantically, kissing, hugging - even going on any dates or talking on the phone. September 22nd, 2016.
It's September 22nd, 2018 now.
And here I am.
I still feel every ounce of love, pain, betrayal, trauma, and indescribable beauty of me and her. I can still hear the sound her lips would make when they parted after we'd kiss. The different types of laughs. Rolling in her drool on her pillow in the morning. Sitting on the bathroom floor, holding her hand, her "pee pal". Cleaning out the gutters on the roof and then laying out in the autumn sun and taking pictures. The way she would grab me and hold me when we'd make love. The things we'd say into each others' ears in the dark for no one else but each other. The poison oak hike. The Dandy Lion rescue mission. Cooling each other off with paperback books in the afterglow of summer night sex.
It's all... still here. Preserved, perfectly in this lonely heart. Like a glass case I don't let anyone touch or point at or look at for fear of anything contaminating it. The highest highs and the lowest lows are all in there. No one can take that away.
Not all the new guys in the world that have been in her bed. I had Nala. Moonlight. No one else has.
They have their own version of whatever she's decided to be.
I didn't realize how long it had been without sex (or anything involving a woman) until about a year had passed. I put the notification on my calendar months prior for some reason. Woke up to it on my alarm.
I fully expected for my primal urges to take over at some point. I trusted that, at some point, hormones would take over and override heartbreak and regret and drive me into something else. All guys need pussy right? "Gotta fuck new pussy to get over old pussy." That's... that's what they always say?
They never kicked in. I never got to the, "I just need to feel pleasure again," or the whole, "I just want to feel wanted again," mentality. Seemed like a cop out. I know it's normal - I know she has done it tons of times - but it never triggered in me.
Any thought of intimacy always funneled back to her.
And me.
And her and I having a family.
...
I never go out.
I'll probably add more to this post later. It's getting depressing. Took me 40 minutes to write this far. She shouldn't affect me to this magnitude two years later, but she still does, in full, unapologetic breaths of memory.
I could never escape her cloud.
In truth, I've never tried.
Because I've never wanted to.
I fear I've done all the "healing" I can possibly muster for this lifetime. And I'm just left with the wound of my soulmate being far, far away.
You tell someone you love them even when things are falling over your heads like the Roman Coliseum in an earthquake, and they shake their head and wonder how that's possible.
You tell someone that you will love them - and only them - long after everything is over, and they'll call you a liar.
But I submit that this is only them projecting their own limitations, because they themselves could never love someone to that level, therefore rendering the concept of Forever Love impossible - even in the face of self-imposed loneliness. Which, in their head, makes you a liar.
And yet, here I am.
It's been two years since her and I touched each other. And I've yet to be with anyone else, in any capacity. Sexually, romantically, kissing, hugging - even going on any dates or talking on the phone. September 22nd, 2016.
It's September 22nd, 2018 now.
And here I am.
I still feel every ounce of love, pain, betrayal, trauma, and indescribable beauty of me and her. I can still hear the sound her lips would make when they parted after we'd kiss. The different types of laughs. Rolling in her drool on her pillow in the morning. Sitting on the bathroom floor, holding her hand, her "pee pal". Cleaning out the gutters on the roof and then laying out in the autumn sun and taking pictures. The way she would grab me and hold me when we'd make love. The things we'd say into each others' ears in the dark for no one else but each other. The poison oak hike. The Dandy Lion rescue mission. Cooling each other off with paperback books in the afterglow of summer night sex.
It's all... still here. Preserved, perfectly in this lonely heart. Like a glass case I don't let anyone touch or point at or look at for fear of anything contaminating it. The highest highs and the lowest lows are all in there. No one can take that away.
Not all the new guys in the world that have been in her bed. I had Nala. Moonlight. No one else has.
They have their own version of whatever she's decided to be.
* * * * * * * * * *
I didn't realize how long it had been without sex (or anything involving a woman) until about a year had passed. I put the notification on my calendar months prior for some reason. Woke up to it on my alarm.
I fully expected for my primal urges to take over at some point. I trusted that, at some point, hormones would take over and override heartbreak and regret and drive me into something else. All guys need pussy right? "Gotta fuck new pussy to get over old pussy." That's... that's what they always say?
They never kicked in. I never got to the, "I just need to feel pleasure again," or the whole, "I just want to feel wanted again," mentality. Seemed like a cop out. I know it's normal - I know she has done it tons of times - but it never triggered in me.
Any thought of intimacy always funneled back to her.
And me.
And her and I having a family.
...
I never go out.
* * * * * * * * * *
I'll probably add more to this post later. It's getting depressing. Took me 40 minutes to write this far. She shouldn't affect me to this magnitude two years later, but she still does, in full, unapologetic breaths of memory.
I could never escape her cloud.
In truth, I've never tried.
Because I've never wanted to.
I fear I've done all the "healing" I can possibly muster for this lifetime. And I'm just left with the wound of my soulmate being far, far away.
