This next post is a sequel to this one.
Twenty years ago you never would have seen a note like this. I never would have allowed you inside my head or my heart. Twenty years ago you would have screamed at me in frustration and asked why I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking, wondered why I wouldn’t share my thoughts with you. And then you would have looked at me expecting an answer and received a smile and silence.
It would have tested your patience. For a while you would have hung around believing that if you gave me enough time I would learn to trust you enough to let you in. Chances are there would have been a few moments where hints of that which I held back came out. Little glimmers of hope would have made you think that it would happen.
But it wouldn’t have. Not for lack of effort or desire but because I didn’t know how to say those things you wanted to hear. They lay inside locked up in places I had trouble accessing. And truthfully I didn’t want to find the keys to those doors. It was fine to keep that untouched.
Eventually you would have given up and left. I would miss you but never say a word. It was easier that way.
Time would pass and we’d connect. We’d find each other and learn that timing really is everything. Unexpected and unsought for love would sweep us away. Under the craziest of conditions we’d fall harder and faster than ever before.
Alone at the keyboard I type and retype that last paragraph trying hard to avoid trite expressions. Unhappy with the thought that someone would read it and think of cliches and bad sitcoms. Because it was none of those things. It was real. It was the most real thing we ever experienced in a relationship.
I remember a day not so long ago. All I Want is You was playing and you were telling me about your day. We were talking about the future and you said that until I got my head out of my ass there wouldn’t be one. I laughed and told you to relax.
I didn’t have to see your face to know that you didn’t like it. But I knew that if I pulled you into my arms and kissed your lips you’d give in to the feeling. I told you that you couldn’t stay angry with me and you smiled. Dark, dark eyes looked up at me and gave me a smile that no one else gets.
That was then. A lifetime has passed since those crazy days. A million years and a million experiences spent both together and apart. I didn’t have to speak with you to know what you were doing or how you occupied yourself. Didn’t need the telephone, email or a psychic to know that you kept busy with family matters. Supermom had always been there, but you put extra work into wearing that cape and playing that role.
I know how you think and that you figured that every day without contact it would become easier. In time you might have even convinced yourself that it wasn’t real, that what happened was something other than it was. Then it was my turn to tell you that if you pulled your head out of your ass it would be all too evident that you were fooling yourself.
Maybe. That is a funny word, maybe. If you are a glass half full kind of person it is a word that offers potential and hope. If you are the half empty type it is more symbolic of something that isn’t real. A word that you can use to say no without actually saying no.
I told you a thousand years ago that storms follow me, that I radiate intensity. I said that I would scare you with it. You laughed and told me that it could never happen, but it did, sort of. You didn’t fear me because you worried about harm. You feared being close because that fire that burns inside me could so easily light the one that still simmers in you.
Were you standing here reading this, I’d pretend to be Fabio on the cover of some trashy romance novel. I’d strike a pose and make you laugh. It is not bragging if you can do it, how many times did I say that.
Well, it is not. Popeye was right, I yam what I yam. Just a boy telling a girl “All I want is you.”
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