Hello My Love

I was waxing poetic today while thinking about you and this sits in my “outbox” awaiting the right moment to send.

You are, to me, a base need like O2 or food. A compelling drive, and instinctual desire, irresistible. That means you are welcome, for five minutes or hours, five days or decades, to just be wherever I am. No call, no knock, you might catch me at being not enough, with dishes in the sink, whiskey in hand at 9 am, or tears on my cheeks, but I am imperfect and still need and desire your presence

In some ways I am still waxing poetic and in all ways, and always, I am thinking about you. Perhaps you don’t find it noble to love boundlessly, to wait as silently as possible, and to bury your fears, your hurts, your losses. This is what I am doing; I sometimes feel it is noble, other times I feel ignorant, stubborn, headstrong and stupid. Is it even waiting if there is no promise of an ending or beginning? Have I simply buried my head in the sand so that I can ignore your truths? I am often so full of questions that I cannot answer alone, but I won’t hear your answers. Because I cannot see a life without you, so I don’t see it. Since the moment we first spoke, I suspected, then we finally started conversing on the telephone, and I really started to believe, but finally, we were making love at semi-regular intervals, and I knew. You are my person. I ran away from the reality that I could no longer envision a life without you, and spent years trying to avoid any vision of a future, because this man from a small town in Pennsylvania kept inserting himself into those ruminations. Ever been sad enough to stop looking ahead? Confused enough? I stopped. Looking. Ahead. I am so sorry for the catalyst, but so happy you are back in my life. Thank you. I can now picture two weeks at a time ahead, till the next time I can see you.

A fortnightly nocturnal communion does not a life make.. but

I see my love, my life, approximately once every fourteen days. I await eagerly the sound of his ministrations blaring from my phone. So I can close my voice and float on the timbre of his voice. So he can say something that I can hang onto until the next time I can hear or see him. In many ways this waiting is like waiting for a sensory implant. All my senses react to and have become addicted to you. When you are not near, I am blind, when you are not speaking, I am deaf, when you are not within reach, I cannot feel. Everything tastes and smells MORE when you are there with me. This is a sad truth but still the truth. I have chosen you. You have not chosen me and I continue to choose you.

My love for you is ineffable.