Not Ready to Love

I remember thinking that night that I was forced to face my history and at the same time realized that my possible future looked unkind.  At least I found comfort in my past, but those littered at the bar seem to be looking for something…someone, that they will not find here.  I would not either, but all I wanted was to be touched, held, stroked, even if only for a moment.  I sat in that crowded bar with my girlfriends, new and old, and all around us screamed ceaseless and ridiculous chatter.  The glasses clinking seemed so loud that I was sure cracks would form at any moment.  Just another sign of what was to come of my heart.  The music was too loud, voices were slurred, and more dreams were spoken to useless ears.  As I watched the boys conspiring and the girls’ dreams shattering, I sat and wondered if this was what my future held - pretending, seeking, wanting, needing, and the ultimate betrayal, lying. It did not matter that I was surrounded, and the place was crowded; at that moment I felt completely alone.  Many lustful glares were being cast towards me and I could practically see the swell of their erections.  I felt the space growing smaller between what I wanted and what I needed.  

The night went on and several drinks had been sent my way and I started to feel that burn behind my eyes of tiredness that has never left me since giving birth to twins 5 years prior. However, not getting out often pushes your body to do what your mind tells you is wrong or not needed.  I was free for the night and planned to enjoy every second.  I did not notice him walk in and as I write this I wonder if he saw me and sat next to me with intention? Was I a mark, a conquest, just another notch, or did he see me? Did he notice in that brief moment it took to walk to me, that I was in need of something more than sex? I told myself that was what I needed, however as time would tell I needed more. 

Saying “yes” to him felt good, it reminded me that I was still desirable. I was still healing from a nasty divorce. By nasty I mean it tore my family… and insides to shreds.  In all honesty, my only intention was to use him for sexual pleasure. Between my thighs was a pressing need to be touched again and he fit the bill.  When he sat down next to me at the bar, I remember feeling intoxicated by the way he smelled. The scent was familiar but different on his skin.  He was lighter than I liked but his hands looked soft and yet manly.  As he spoke, I noticed that he had a nice smile and I could already feel his lips on mine and his tongue in my mouth.  I imagine his fingers playing on my skin, lingering inside my body…my mouth. T

Then he told me his age.  My first mistake was thinking that I would never allow myself to feel anything but pity for this young man, who I clearly would make my toy.  Instead of running, I looked him in the eye that night and did not flinch at the number 27, instead, I was excited for what my first foray with him would be like. Could he match my stamina?  I am not your normal 43 year-year-old and I have an insatiable appetite for pleasure.   We exchanged phone numbers and what was meant only to be physical turned into over a year of a very delicate emotional rollercoaster.  Sounds like an oxymoron but it was as if our rides to the top were slow and deliberate and then the ride down was terrifying yet exhilarating.  

He showed me how it would end at the beginning of our relationship. I should have believed him when he gave me doubt from the very start. How foolish was I to believe that I could be loved by someone who has never known love as I have? Only that was the problem, I never considered love being an option. His aspirations, his desires, his family, not even his government name mattered to me. Yet somehow, we not only became entangled in one another’s limbs but in matters of the heart as well.  Even with my heart still pumping very raw blood through my veins, I allowed a man to see me again for the first time.  Not just my physical body, but the intricacies of my insides too, my actual heart. 

Several months later when he was inside me, he told me he loved me. Had he said it another time but the sounds of our bodies joining, and intense breathing did not allow me to hear him? 

Or was I in denial?  I was not only out of breath from that revelation but from the feeling that I loved him too and that scared me. There is not a moment that I can recall ever saying to myself “I love this man.” Yet at that moment, I felt a sense of peace.  I think he made me face the fact that I could love again, and even though he had already shown me that he could not be transparent, it did not matter because I wanted him.   At that moment, and more months to follow, that was all that mattered.    

The way he looked at me, touched me, whispered to me, spoke to me…excited me.  His ambition, his drive, passion, kindness, and creativity eventually revealed themselves to me and it gave me chills.  I was starting to find myself more intrigued by his mind than I anticipated.  While he still had so much to learn about life, he had such strong opinions about it.  Although this would normally annoy me coming from a young person who has so much life to live, I found myself actually wanting to know him.  He was silly, playful and had a way of making me feel alive again. 

We continued to be “unattached” and give our “love” no title.  In the midst of the good, we became jealous, slept with other people, brandished marks from other lovers … okay perhaps brandished is too harsh a word but that is how I felt when I saw it.  How could we call this love? Mistrust, lies, lack of accountability, unfulfilled promises, our story started to read like a rap sheet of whodunnits.   I congratulated myself on the ability to unpack all of the varying emotions and scenes from our love-saga and still maintain that none of it mattered. He was to me what I needed him to be at the time.

As the months went by and the sun rose and set on our bodies.  We continued to mar our existence with inconsistencies.  I should not have given any of my power to him.  As soon as he started to pull away, I should have let him fall off the cliff.  Instead, I would pull him back subtly, by not saying the words “no. we should not be together.” I gave him the green light.  This gave him the power to step back and falter several times, eventually going dark.  This was past my comfort zone, and he always came back to me, always.  I started to feel that familiar ping of betrayal and loss that I did with my ex-husband, and my daddy issues re-surfaced.  I was abandoned once again.  Just like a light, there was no warning that I needed to replace the bulb.  He just decided “I can’t give you what you need” and “we aren’t going to be in a real relationship” with no recourse.  Those words burned my eyelids not because they were not true, but because he was right. 

His lack of accountability told him he did not need to Facetime me as he had hundreds of times before.  He did not tell me this to my face – and that made me want to strike him.  I deserved more than a text, and one that was in response to mine, no less.  His cowardice stopped him from being human and showing compassion.  His meaning of “best friend” was vastly different than my own.   

I wanted to know this man even with his clothes on.  I started to wonder what happened to him. Why did he see me as he saw them?  Why did he not trust that I loved him, or that he could be transparent with me even if it hurt me? I wanted him to know that even without the physical intimacy I considered him my friend. Perhaps that is why I felt betrayed. As I have moved through life I have not yet found peace in the unknowing, or the carelessness that people show when it comes to matters of the heart. I regret that I never uncovered those answers, I simply never asked him. I was hurt and confused, and like our relationship, I suppose my story will end the same. Unfinished and full of questions.