That Word, Another Perspective

I’m writing from a different place this time.

The all-consuming flaming passion that inspired a recent post have, if not exactly gone, certainly reduced in their intensity to pretty, glowing embers. The rose-tinted shades that accompany that kind of feeling were tugged off and unceremoniously thrown away, leaving me older, wiser, calmer and more sane.

Well, not completely sane. I mean, have you met me? But saner, certainly. Love is an insanity in and of itself.

Don’t get me wrong – said embers indicate a love that exists and always will. For all his bad points – and there are many – he’s still someone very special to me, and he’s up there in the company of other lovers and best friends. I just got to know him that smidge better, and understand in greater depth with whom I was dealing. It helped. It really helped.

A wise woman commented that maybe I had to meet and experience The Abyss in order to meet The Diver.

The Diver is someone not long in the realm of the English Delicacy, and who, like the Abyss, does not have access to or knowledge of this blog. Which makes it easier for me to write with clarity and full disclosure. Not much easier, given that with the Diver, I am as open a book as I could ever be. He knows about everything — many things to which you, gentle reader, may not be privy. The state of the crashing end of my marriage. My polyamory and non-monogamous nature. The meaning behind several of the evil glints that are wont to flash in my eye.

We met innocently enough, but there was something there – undocumented, intangible, indescribable that I felt deep in my soul. I just knew it was something out of the ordinary. I said nothing and did my best not to broadcast anything — and then he clarified how he felt, and it was clear that we were singing from the same songsheet.

The openness attracted him. The need for freedom too. And yet, when he holds me, he pulls me tight against him, as though he could meld us together. The passion he inspires in me is matched by his own. Our physical and mental compatibility is new to me. Both seeking the same thing. Both learning anew to trust and rely.

Happy. That’s how I feel. Happy, excited, inspired. It’s been a while, god knows. I wasn’t even sure I ever would feel it again. But I do.

The images above? Two of several in a series that he sent me links to. To say what he couldn’t express verbally. My knees melted, as did that stone I like to call my heart.

I hesitate to use that word. I’ve allowed myself to fall into that word too often, and always far too soon. So now, I hold back. I back away from that word. Restraint is everything. If it’s meant to be — and deep down in the darkest recesses of my soul, I believe it is, although I only voice this to you, gentle reader — it will be.

Watch this space.

That word

It causes more problems than it solves, that word.

Sends senses off on a wayward wind, tumbling free. Followed closely by my emotions. No rhyme, no reason. An end to rational thought, contemplation, considered and rational belief.

Thought I’d been in love before. Clearly not. Just goes to show, you can never be too old to fall, and fall hard.

No one has ever had such a profound effect on me before. I am at a loss to adequately describe it, if I’m honest — which as a wordsmith both by trade and in my soul, does not sit well.

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Believe me, he says, incredulously. If i didn’t want you around, you would know.

It’s not enough, I retort. I need to hear it. I am not capable of functioning until I hear it from you.

You really don’t know? he quizzes, arching an eyebrow and fixing me with a look. Clearly this is a big surprise to him.

I pause, wondering how best to illustrate the tsunami of raw emotion that has crippled me to my core of late. While he was not the sole cause – I am not quite as pathetic as this post is making me sound – he did, however, generate the biggest fallout. Emotional concussion, if you like. Why? Fuck knows. It just is what it is.

Deep breath: inhale.

Babe, I cried. I fucking wept. On your brother’s shoulder. Like a babe in arms. I had convinced myself and no rhyme or reason could convince me otherwise.

He smiles, engulfs me in the massiveness that is his gloriously sexy frame. Brings me in close, kisses me on the forehead, then lifts my chin so our eyes meet.

I’m not scared to say I love you. And I do, be sure of that.

I well up again, but this time with joy.

I know you. I trust you. 

I go to kiss him, he smiles and jokes around, holding me away from him until he finally acquiesces, and I lose myself in him.

It’s just… I thought it was understood. Between us. Mutual. 

I thought you knew.