… letters to an ex-lover?

As I watched the vanilla twilight turn from night to light blue I felt him stirring beside me as he started to wake too. Laying there nestled in the crook of his tattooed arm, our hands entwined in the spaces between our fingers where they fit perfectly and felt his heart beat just a little faster. It was one of those nights where nothing was more than what it should be. But then when you least expect it, a karmic moment that sets you straight, reminds you of your unpaid debt to the universe, your sin. These days, it seems karma is becoming more efficient, doesn’t take long before she smacks me upside the head, leaving me stunned.

But before that there is the exquisite physical pleasure that he brings – whether it’s a smile, or a long, lingering kiss where you can taste the last cigarette on his tongue mixed with whiskey, or the way that he has when he’s inside of you when we’re having sex. The way that I just can’t keep my hands off him. He manages to push all my buttons. And I get irritated, not by him, by me, for liking him still. I act all wrong around him. Nothing comes out right. Me, the king of words, speechless, awkward, dumbfounded. It’s life’s little reminder that things you hold in your heart of hearts to be true sometimes aren’t – he isn’t mine to love no matter how hard my eunuch heart has already fallen for him.

And then sitting there one night on his sofa, his adorable dog between us while watching TV I realise that this could be a perfect moment. When every moment in life is somehow connected to another. Each second inexplicably linked to a past episode or a future one, an intricate weave of events that make up the fabric of a lifetime. That in this moment I could stop going round-and-round on the carousel that we call life and that we could just stand still for a moment in our lives when though nothing is what it is … we could settle on the could be. Without fear.

After Mark shattered my heart into a million crystal shards that sparkled like a tray of one-carat diamonds I realised that there are two kinds of people in the world: those who’ve had their heart broken, and those who think they’ve had. Like veterans of war, people who’ve truly been there rarely speak of it, they have no desire to relive that hell. They don’t have to. It’s in their eyes, their body language, and their demeanour. A moment after which everything is different. Nothing is ever the same.

In those moments you close yourself off from the world – you’re afraid to open up … to want or need someone again. With him … for the first time in years … I want to be with someone who wants nothing from me except to be …

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