He came to me last night, late. He came and rested next to me on my bed, pulling me close to him… he held me, so tight… He kissed me so tenderly, loved me in a manner that showed me what was in his heart. His actions spoke so very strongly. As always, he was gentle, considerate, his hands so gentle, fingertips skimming over my skin, making my body crave him. He saw to my needs first, loving me in the way that makes me feel so beautiful, loved, cherished… and so very alive. No surprise there, his every touch has always stirred the fires within me, made my body hum in something that can only be described as a purr. Something that I have only felt this strongly with him. I attach my emotions to my physical actions, which to me, is why it is called “making love.” It isn’t all about desire or lust, it is about the depth of my emotions for him.
His back was hurting, so I spent hours massaging oils into his lower back, running my hands gently over the screws that I could feel beneath his skin at the site of his spinal fusion. I massaged the pain away as he slept beside me, snoring softly. During the night he would rouse a little, place soft kisses on the top of my head, my lips. Just I have no doubt that he didn’t realize what he was doing, I have no doubt that he knew it was me that was in bed with him. He would open his eyes, a smile fleeting across his lips and pull me close to him. I didn’t go to sleep for a long time. Instead I spent my time memorizing his face, his scent, the lines of his lips, lips that had travelled over my body only hours before. Morning found us wrapped up in each other’s arms, with me feeling so safe, secure, and yes, loved.
He held me tight before he left, kissed my lips, whispered that he loved me. I hung on as tightly as I could, loved that his arms held me just as tightly against him in an unyielding grip. I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry, but the tears came. I fought them. I didn’t want him to feel bad for coming to say goodbye this time. I know he can’t stand to see me cry, which is why I believe he couldn’t face me to say goodbye before. We encircled his son into our embrace and stood, frozen in time. Only, time didn’t really freeze for us. The clock moved forward, and so it had to end. When he released me a sob caught in my throat and the tears started to stream faster down my cheeks. I brushed them away and hung my head. He pulled me close again and held me for a moment longer. He promised to come again, if he could, before he leaves later this week. Time pushed him and his son out the door, ripping at my heart as I listened to his car drive away.
Awhile later I walked back up into my bedroom and I stood there and stared at my empty bed. I picked up the pillow and held it close to me, taking in his scent. It is a warm, pleasant, masculine scent that instantly gives me a feeling of comfort, peace and safety. I dropped the pillow to the bed, and thought about going back to bed, but did not. My bed is a cold and empty place right now. I have no desire to be there, so I sit here, at my keyboard and am not bothering to brush the tears from my face. There is nobody here to see them, to catch them as they fall. I write to work through my feelings, I write to push them out so that I can follow myself on this journey called life. I write because the written word brings a realization that thoughts cannot. When you see your very soul poured out into words things become more final. They make more sense. It gives me an outlet, a way to keep the emotions from overwhelming me to the point that leaves me curled up into a useless ball in the center of my bed, sobbing uncontrollably.
This time, he did it right. This time, he did not leave me with a lie upon his lips. This time he took a little more care with my heart. It makes a huge difference to me, because it has given me a small amount of peace. Peace that I haven’t felt for a very long time. It didn’t leave me with that awful feeling that something was terribly wrong with me and that I didn’t deserve the truth, it didn’t leave me feeling like the people in his life all mattered save for me. This time he didn’t shut me out, ignore my needs, running from what he was doing to me. But with it comes knowledge, knowledge that this is probably the end of the chapters in my life that were meant to have him in it. I will talk to him, text with him, but he won’t be able to come to me, won’t be able to pull me close at night when dreams plague my sleep, won’t be there to laugh and smile at me when I say something stupid, with an affection that makes sure I know he loves every moment of it. I don’t live in some deluded world where I think he will ever find his way back to me, even if his words did tell me that it was a possibility in the future. Yes, I have this very dim hope of “what if” but that is all it is, a dim hope with nothing to support it other than the memory of his hands on my body, his lips on mine.
I can’t respect the fact that he left us, but I do understand his reason for running. Life here has never been easy for him. I know he found happiness with us, but his past kept coming for him and he ran instead of trusting that, this time, the person that he was with would have walked to hell and back with him to fight his pain. I wish he would have had enough faith in me, enough courage to work it through it all, and the belief that I would have stood beside him to work through his internal demons, to fight the people that would try to destroy him no matter what. If he only knew, if he had only been able to believe that my words were not a lie. How could he when all he has ever heard from those that were supposed to love him was based on lies?
Just as I have my odd little quirks, little things that flare up memories of the past, so does he. I know he was abused as a child. His mother tried to protect him, but he lived with a stepfather that sought out reasons to punish him. Eventually they escaped, but in the end it left him deeply scarred. His ex wife spent years telling him he was useless, nothing, worthless. For those words alone, I loathe her. I don’t even really know her, but I was witness to many of her verbally abusive attacks, many of them right in front of their son. He would take it, for the most part, shielding his son from the things that I know he would have liked to have said. To me, that made him more of a man than shouting back at her would have ever made him. I know how it makes you feel. I know how it is to be beat down to the point where you believe you are all of those awful things. Perhaps that is why he runs. I hope and pray that he finds inner peace.
He hasn’t written off our future together. Even if he hadn’t said the words, his actions showed me that he still holds me within his heart. But again, time pushes us forward and it won’t wait for his heart to heal. I think he is finally beginning to realize that my faith and belief in him has never faltered. He has hurt me, immensely. I have witnessed his dark side, how cold his words can be, how internally angry he is for things that were beyond his control. But through all of that, he has never once raised his voice to me in anger, touched me in any manner other than with consideration and love. There is no evil within his heart, he is not the man that others would have him believe he is.
When he hurts, when he has made a mistake, or when he has hurt someone else he shuts down. He withdraws from us all. Perhaps that is his way of coping. If he doesn’t deal with something it will eventually dim into something lost, another skeleton in the closet. But at the same time, it is another reason for him to believe bad things about himself because he hasn’t worked through it. He has just buried it deeper into his psyche.
All of this is the very reason that I have told him that I do believe in him. This is one of the reasons that I have forgiven him when he has hurt me so terribly. You see, even though we may never be together, I will always believe in the man that I knew. Just because he has made many mistakes with me doesn’t mean that I have to turn my back on a man who fights many of the same inner battles that I deal with on a daily basis. He needs to know that he isn’t a bad person, isn’t evil. I can’t save him, I probably can’t even help him work through it. But what I can do, is to forgive him. No, he is not mine to love anymore but I am not ready to shut the door on another lost soul. I can offer him my forgiveness, my understanding, my friendship and the belief that I have in him. Maybe it will help him find peace in his future if he knows that somewhere out there in this cold world there is someone that doesn’t think he is any of the things that he has been told he is.