TRIGGER WARNING: Adult themes, adult emotional complexity.
Moments catch my breath. Something as mundane as steam and aches… when the memory hits.
Your sweat. The taste, the feel as it ran from your skin to mine. Your ache, my needs. Needing you.
Feeling so safe and so far away in your arms. Everything just fell away, we’d fall asleep exhausted and awaken to being held and kissed and needed some more. Nothing else existed, no worries. No strife. No pain. None of the trappings of a human existence.
Two gods in their own love-realm.
It feels too long since I was me, and you, you were the you I craved.
Rough bear paws on my back, guiding me.
Reaching out for me when you felt I was too far away.
Stroking my skin even without marks or bruises, but reassuring me that you wanted to feel me.
The confidence in your prowess – you filled a room with your aura – never did you falter with me – each step, your hand on my back – what happened next, perfectly planned and executed – precise, divine. Delicious.
My love. My god. I worshipped you.
You and I only existed in stolen moments but those moments were an eternity in your bed. Crumpled sheets. A certain scent that clung to everything. Buried in big arms and wrapped into a body bigger than mine – and so beautiful. A strong, beautiful man. Divine.
I’d feel you for days. I’d hurt. You ensured that you lived in my brain. And flirt unabashed when we were apart. Reminding me that I was yours and you were mine. Mine. That word alone, held so much. Mine, and only mine. Forever and ever.
Like this Forest Fire met an intensely powerful storm.
I miss the way that you deeply craved me. Telling me in the deep notes and purposeful inflections in your voice. Making it feel like your fingers were stroking my neck through the phone.
I still get goosebumps. My breath stolen at the thought.
Making me feel like you were starving. And I was a whole damn meal. And you wanted to look after me. Protect me. That no one could touch me or hurt me, because I was yours.
Now I watch you and silently call to you – notice me. Please.
You were my divine masculine. My imperfect perfection was enough and more, for you. I did believe it with my whole heart.
That we belonged to each other.
Forever and ever.
A passionate Love Story to last unto eternity.
You revelled in how I am [and was] the things I’d say and explore, my feelings, my dreams, my hopes, my peculiarities, my texts and pictures – you used to enjoy, I never used to annoy you when I spoke. There was reassurance. Presence.
I miss that.
The openness. The exploration. The Kink. The passion. Feeling wanted, so wanted.
Strip away everything else – that is what I miss most: feeling wanted. Enjoyed. Led. Like my body and my voice could take up ground and would be nourished.
Now I am starving. And you are sick of me.
When I stop – the sadness climbs in sometimes – like I am an outsider looking at the brilliance that is you. Reaching out behind a layer of history, trying to trace the pages of what we once were.
The beautiful dream.
I could say that you crossed out what was. Changing the rules to fit new roles. Broke my heart a few times. Moved on with your life and led a new path that put me as far from desirable as I can be. But it is necessary to be what I am now.
New Lessons. Lessons hurt but they reshape you. New perspectives. Fire. Strength that you never knew you had. Resilience.
I could say it all changed in one night, as you pushed me away for days and nights the chasm grew. My obsessive need to fix, grew even more. I no longer was chased – I chased. Losing each part of you like stars going out felt like the very pieces of my heart was being torn unwillingly from my skin. I still want you, I still need you. Nothing has changed inside for me. Why am I not enough? I pleaded… don’t leave me.
The inner child adrift. Alone. Fatherless. Loverless and overwhelmed by a world that I do not understand.
Why did the rules have to change?
How do I change them back?
Can you love me again?
But what I wouldn’t give for you to truly look at me, see me again, and call me yours. Not barge into my words, call me too much, or deep sigh exasperated each time I talk – or try to. A little attention – as a woman.
I could say that I wish I was beautiful.
But I am enough.
I still can look nice dressed up given half the chance [though dog walking and chasing small beings requires less glam], my body may not have been the one you’d actually have chosen, but I gave it to you & you know what? I don’t mind my curves, scars and ripples… it’s a result of life and enjoyment.
I am smart. Funny [even without meaning to], I am intense, I love deeply and give all I am to those I love. I am not boring [even you would chuckle at that, raise your eyebrows, roll your eyes and agree animatedly]. And I give myself amazing orgasms FYI.
Maybe I will learn to be stoic.
Or maybe, you will fall for me again, just as I am.
Maybe you won’t.
Maybe I’ll be alone with a house of happy children.
Or maybe, I’ll be loved by another.
Maybe.
I deserve love and to be loved the way I need to be.
As do you.
And I smile, looking back, he taught me a lot. What I need, what I want, how much I can pour into love. How good it feels to be in the presence of someone so electric, so alive, so confident and the best version of himself. How good it feels to be loved so thoroughly and settling for less than that is a disservice. He taught me to find my voice – even when he doesn’t enjoy it anymore. I still enjoy his.
I am moving into my crone era. Growing out the greys. My hair is over halfway down my back and a mass of wildness. I am more squishy and soft but still occasionally rock [hidden under layers] something from my impeccable lingerie boxes. I work hard, harder than most I know – and perpetually show some sort of mental / physical exhaustion. But, I am happy in myself. It’s just one part. And I keep fighting.
I trust in the universe always.
And take the lessons with grace.
The Sacred Unravelling 