Y'all Still Be Here When I Wake Up?

It's interesting to me how we focus on the different aspects of things.

But first, I have to make a confession: I'm having a much harder time being objective about you and your life and what you should do than I was a week ago. I know you feel torn. Tugged at and manipulated. I know you feel as if there are too many hands needing holding and too little of you to go around. I know I contribute to that, and I hope that you know I don't want to. I want you in my life, but I want you to be in my life willingly, because you want to be, not because you feel obligated.

But I, too, feel torn. I feel torn between, on the one hand, wanting to offer you an out; wanting to allow you the freedom to explore what feels right and not feel obligated to uphold silly promises sworn in the throes of passion. On the other hand, I feel that I'm betraying myself, my soul, my heart and you by not being honest and admitting that I feel deeply hurt by your constant questioning and self doubt. I feel empty enough, not having you here and knowing (when you are here) that you'll have to leave, but to know that you are, on some level, questioning every word you say to me, every promise you make and every oath of love, days, hours, maybe minutes after they leave your lips makes me feel beyond empty. It makes me feel as if I'm pouring love into a bottomless pit, two and a half miles straight down.

And then I look into your eyes, and see my love shining back at me in those moments when you put all that away and allow yourself to look at what I'm giving you. Not look away and question, actually look at it, feel it, embrace it and open yourself to it, I feel my love returned. I feel my own love for you radiating back at me, see my look in your eyes and feel like there's nothing on this earth that can come between us. Except maybe ourselves, for when you look away again, all too often, the feeling fades. I keep fearing that you'll leave the room and disappear. I'm afraid that I'll wake up and you'll be gone. Not because this isn't real, but because you can't believe in it, even when it's staring you in the face.

I've said this too many times, but it's the best way I know how to tell you I love you now, aside from holding you in my arms, brushing my rough hands against your soft, beautiful face and promising with a whisper in your ear that I'll love you, hold you, keep you and protect you forever, or as long as humanly possible (whichever comes first). I love you. You. Not the you-shaped hole in my life when you're gone, and not the general idea of a you-type person to fuck and laugh with. I love you. Every bit of you. Even the cranky, mean bits. Even the fighting you. Even the you that hates, fights and questions me. Even the you that doubts.

Anyway, as I said, it's interesting to me what we remember - or interpret - differently. I feel like we had a handful of wonderful, but tempestuous days, although we only fought about a few things, and those were things over which we were going to have to come to an understanding at some point anyway. Things we'd never dared speak about to another living soul, much less open ourselves to a debate over. I feel like we threw open all the doors to our lives, invited each other in to look around, didn't like some of the things we found and then spat at each other, mad that we'd each broken some unspoken covenant to not address real things. It feels as if the dream died this week; our storybook romance, in which I give up saving people from drowning and walk into your classroom to rescue you from a life of schoolmarmish loneliness. It feels like that movie wrapped up the day you stepped off the plane and after that we were on our own to figure out how to love each other without the numbing hum of adrenaline in our ears. I think this week we moved beyond the theoretical of living a perfect life, loving a perfect love with our perfect partners. We were faced with the possibility of actually having to do it and that thought terrified us and we fumbled a bit, forgetting that it wasn't something we dreamed up out of nothing, but something that found us, picked us out of a random life because it was perfect for us; something that drew us together, in spite of all odds, not because we desperately wanted it (although we did) but because we are the two halves of a perfect person.

We fell in love a long time ago. That's not what this week was about. This week was about trying to decide if we trusted our hearts, trusted that invisible thing which pointed us the way to each other and said "Dude, check it." This week was about testing the limits of the dream. We did good in some parts, bad in others, but in the end, after the credits rolled and the last audience member filed out, shoes sticking slightly to the floor, we remained, looking into each other's hearts, loving each other for who we really are and what we bring to each others' lives and not wanting to make that stupid, sad trip to the airport one more time. I fucked you tonight and afterward I wanted ot go make you tacos, and settle in for a long evening of just being myself with you, just being yourself. We fought today and worked through things today and lived life today, and at the end of this day I just wanted to exist in your presence. Nothing more, nothing less. But that wasn't to be. Not tonight. Maybe not for many nights. And if you can honestly tell me that your doubts overshadow the pain ion your heart at the knowing of that, then you may just convince me of that thing I need to know in order to let you go. If you can, that is. If you can.

So ponder away, my love. Think long and hard. As long and as hard as you like. Leave me, even, if that's what you have to do. Forget what we've had, decide it's not for you, doubt its very existence if that makes something inside of you feel more right than resting in my arms and feeling my love for you. If you have to go that road, then do it. If you have to explore every possible negative alternative to the fact that I'm here, I love you and this is real, then do so. But please hurry home when you're done. And if you can skip the whole doubting, questioning bit, all the better. We both know how this ends. Stop fucking around and come home. Your husband misses you terribly and your life awaits.

The fact that you dreamed about it doesn't make it any less true.