23 October 2011
We talk, we cry, we
even laugh but we don’t touch. We search each other’s faces for answers, look
away when the emotion becomes too much, draw invisible circles on the quilt,
breathe deeply and try again.
We walk, hands in
pockets, staring blankly at the horizon taking turns to bear our souls, voice
our regrets.
We row out deep
into nowhere and we bury our dreams in a watery grave, one by one.
We silently stare
into the flames of the bonfire, we’re aching, we’re empty. There are no more
words, no more thoughts.
We quietly settle
in the lounge, each on our own couch, the light of the screen flickering across
our faces. We watch one of our old favourites and it stirs up memories,
emotions. They rise like sediment from the bottom of a vessel of water and the tears
start flowing again.
I thought this was
it, true love. That I was living “happily ever after”. I thought it had been years
since the last act of infidelity, but I guess I should have known that it was
just too good to be true.
At least I can walk
away and say that I have loved. I have loved with deep abandon and I have known
what it is like to be loved. What it feels like to trust so much that I could
lean back and let go. What it feels like to be desired. To gently be brought to
a place of such ecstasy and beautiful fulfillment that I would cling to him,
breathe in the smell of his skin, his hair and cry softly. To have him gently
run his hands over my curves as he would slip in behind me, hold me close and breathe
words of adoration into my hair. He touched me deeply, touched my heart and my
soul and I love him for it. But I cannot share this precious place of intimacy with
anyone else, reconcile myself with an “open marriage” and the very real
possibility of HIV. So I set him free. And I set me free, free to heal, to learn how to trust again and free
to love with total abandon once more…
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