“There is nothing that I can do but belong to you.”
Ben Taylor
He called me his sexual soul mate. Both to me and to his friends.
I call Him my life’s work, but only in my head and to my friends.
I haven’t told Him, He is my swan song. The culmination of all the things I have learned, been and done.
I wonder some days if He knows that I love Him.
I have said it, out loud. Told Him I am his. Said the words but there is So much space and time between us.
We are both jaded. He says He is afraid of how He feels about me.
Me? I am only afraid of His fear.
Is it going to keep us apart?
How can I get Him to trust me from here?
Fight or flight, I found a third option. Wait.
I have been waiting.
I have known since I stumbled upon Him that there was something there.
‘For a minute there I thought you were flirting with me, it was a good minute’
He called me a clever girl. Sometimes He calls me good girl. Called me ‘kid’ the other day. I was less than pleased but I let it go. I let a lot of things go. That is what love is. I love Him cranky, happy, horny, sick, well, attentive and dismissive. He is the sum of all these things. He is my choice.
Here or gone, He is my love.
He went away for half a year last time.
When He came back He found me, standing where He left me. I had been through all the stages of grief alone, quietly. He said I handled myself with grace and in that moment it was worth all of it.
She thrusts her fists against the posts and still insists she she’s the ghosts.
I told Him I loved Him and missed Him. He told me He missed me too, close enough.
What rings in my ears is the time He called me his, sexual soul mate granted…I’ll take it.
I will take anything that makes me His.
I tell Him stories, He is my muse.
I’m writing what I have playfully labeled my opus. The pornographic story of us, so somewhere in someone’s mind we can be together. We will exist together, even if it’s just between the pages of a book.
I have known since the beginning that if He would just look me in the eyes one time He would know that I would never leave Him, never hurt Him. He could read it on my face just like the rest of the world does when someone says His name. That my intentions are good. I do indeed belong to Him, forsaking all others, just Him. Always loved that part of marriage vows, ‘forsaking all others’, that and ‘with my body I thee worship’.
I do.
I don’t have to marry Him, I don’t even need to live with Him. Not sure if we could.
I need space and time, less than what we have now. But still.
When the vignettes of our imaginary life present themselves in my head I am sitting in a comfy chair, reading. He is on the couch watching football. My ingrained waitress waiting for His drink to get too low. We sit outside smoking and watching lanterns dance. Say hi to the neighbors.
And sometimes I go home.
Sometimes I stay, rub His back until He falls asleep. Slip out of bed and get Him coffee in the morning, kiss His forehead. I feed Him, fuck Him, fuss over Him, and go to the post office when He doesn’t want to deal with the world.
Sometimes we fight and I remember to stand still, I don’t yell, I wait. Hard won lessons. I have waited years for others who never knew me as well as He did in the first 12 hours we spoke. I told Him more truths than anyone ever, and He loved me for it.
He is my king and my castle.
But sometimes I go home.
In my imaginary house there is a room only He is allowed in, it’s ours alone. My sanctuary but He has the key. He is the key.
Doesn’t much matter where we are. We could walk into any room and my body language would only spell one word. His.
He is my eclipse. He came into my world and blocked out the sun. Tinted everything rose coloured perpetual twilight, all I can see is the moon.
The only attention I want is His.
I know what is out there and I want only Him.
There is no room for others, there are no others, I am unshakably His.
I believe with all my heart that the things I am are the things He needs. It’s strange to meet someone and have everything you have ever done make sense. I am not perfect and I don’t always understand completely, but I want to and that has to count for something.
He also has a bad habit of disappearing and I have a bad habit of waiting and still loving Him like He never left. Two wrongs making right.
I have his words tattooed on me. So we are probably doomed. I’ll get more, I’ll be His pillowbook if it gets me talking to Him, listening to Him.
I will give until I am empty, then call up some magical reserve and give some more.
To Him. For Him. I’m His.
This started as His choice, it still is. I have no power here, I don’t want it.
He can push me away and I can run, I’ve thought about it.
He can push me away and I can push back.
Or He can push me away and I simply stay, gently hold my ground, lean into Him.
The first two guarantee I lose Him, the third is the only option with any hope and dignity in it.
