I’m not known for my wisdom.
There is a long list of occasions on which I have not been wise.
In recent times, most of them have involved you.
I should probably leave time for processing before I write this, but I can’t resist. You know how it is. I think you can see how the words take me. How the emotion grips and won’t let go. Sometimes I think I’m an emotional masochist. In general, I’m cynical about love. I love love. I enjoy being in love. But I don’t believe that one love is likely to last forever, and I don’t like ‘soppiness’, about which I turn into a bitchy-eyeroller. My exception is you. There is an exquisite pain in my feelings for you. And I think you understand me, perhaps better than anyone.
You know what passed between us today. Usually, our sober interaction sticks at light flirting, sometimes a pleading look, a hug, a tingle. We have touched in the past and it has been when drunk, to the point of wondering if you only felt the desire after a beer or four. Then there is a sense of ‘que sara sara’, a throwing of caution to the wind. Loose limbed, wrapping around each other, hands skipping over each others backs. Eyes liquid, breaths heavy.
Today was this and more. Sitting in silence, trying not to react. Initially I sat away. I tried, I really did. An earlier incident had opened us to this. A quick grasp of the shoulder. Innocent you claimed, but I can’t believe that, as I know you wouldn’t do it to anyone else. When you touched me, I froze and you walked into me, body to body. There was a hideous moment of panic. Breath caught in throat, my hand on your belly. Face red, eyes closed, trying not to meet yours. And having to leave you there, when I wanted you to take me across the glass table.
Later, I sat outside, wondering if you would come to me. Sometimes you do. It’s nice out there if you can ignore the traffic. Today was cold, and I was finishing a book. At the time I had completed the first, I had also finished eating. It was chilly without my hot food, and I thought inside would be better. As I walked passed the window, I saw feet. I didn’t know they were yours until I opened the inside door, but I’m not a stupid girl, I knew the probability (roughly 50%) and took my chances. I’m not sure if I won or lost to be honest. It was you, and I tried to ignore you for the good of us both. I turned my music to the highest volume and tried to start my next book. Without looking at you directly, even the movement of your feet was a distraction. I felt the same as I did when I first fell for you, that every movement of your body was linked to me. I could feel it without seeing. We chatted vaguely, avoiding each other’s gaze. You told me of an article about polyamory that you saw on the BBC. I moved to sit next to you as you found it. I half expected you to pass me the phone to read, but instead you held it as a video played, I was captured next to you, head angled to watch.
And then, I couldn’t move. I didn’t move at all. My hand splayed across my own thigh. I watched the rough inch between our legs alter, sometimes greater, sometimes lesser as you awkwardly moved your feet on the stool next to us. There was radio silence. For at least a minute. Maybe a minute and a half. I watched your hand, eyes flickered up to your face. I felt you were doing the same, but I didn’t catch you in the act.
Like some corny romance, we opened our mouths and spoke instantaneously. You can’t even make this shit up. We stopped and laughed, and repeated ourselves in turn. But the tension had not been broken.
And the whole time, my breath was shallow, hitching with every other intake. My arms hot and feeling heavy. Teeth biting lip, brow furrowed. Eyes flitting side to side, from my knee to yours. And I took my unwise move and looked at you directly.
“We shouldn’t sit together in private”. “I know. I just want to pounce on you”. My playful use of the word ‘pounce’ belied the danger of what we were doing. You looked at me, and I did it. I don’t know if you expected it. I feel as though the move made had been mine. But you were the one to apologise. Never fucking say sorry. Your lips and mine belong together.
There was a sense of inevitability. Of unfinished business. Of long-time waiting. Longing. Palpable. Crackling between us like electricity. I’m surprised there was no physical static, as I felt it in my body. We both knew something would happen. I couldn’t tell if we hoped for, or dreaded it. Probably both in equal measure. I could hardly breathe, waiting to see if you’d meet eye. The desperation in your eventual slow gaze spoke volumes to me. You didn’t want the full responsibility. You were afraid, but full of desire and longing and heat. You were glad I made the initial leaning move, biting my lip and staring into your eyes, waiting for you to stop me as I moved toward you. I was too hot in my jumper, but no time to remove, which would break the spell we had created between us. My body created so much heat from your proximity, and you matched it in full.
And you were on top of me, suddenly, your delicious weight on me. Nothing more than a kiss. No wondering hands, but one of the best kisses of my life without that. We stood and the tension didn’t move. We hugged, you kissed my head and pressed me to you. We had to leave the room but I just wanted to kiss you again, and again, for that moment to never end. To run away and never stop running as long as you were by my side. I was shaking and later you admitted that you had been too.
And here’s where the struggle lies. I can say this here, because I’m only 50% certain that you read what I write, and I’m safe from knowing that you have unless you tell me so. If I say it in life, you will use avoidance tactics through your fear, and I will feel sad:
I know why you have to ignore it. I feel strongly that you are not really very happy, but you don’t like change. What we could have would mean change. It would mean hurting someone. But you know how I feel. I’m sure of it. I joke, and laugh, and flirt, and make it seemingly about sex. But this is not about sex. It never has been with you. It’s about the utter love I have for the bones of you. I don’t even know if you understand ‘love’ any more, but I have a feeling that you are as close as you can be to it. I know I am important to you, in your own way. I don’t know how that compares, but from the look in your eyes, I can hazard a guess and it kills me that we can’t or don’t act.
So there it is. Laid bare in my foolishness. I love you. I have done for almost three years. I can’t imagine that it will go away. I expect that nothing further will happen, other than the occasional stolen kiss, threading joy and heartache through me. You mark me with every glance, Every ambiguous word. This evening, you waited for me when you didn’t have to. You held the door and pressed your hand to my back. “You don’t like to make it easier, do you”, I muttered, and you gave me a filthy grin. You know as well as I do that there is a camera that would catch that action. For the first time, you have been the instigator, and I wonder if the balance is altering. If you could learn to love me too. If it is more than lust. If it is more than friendship. If it is worth taking a risk for, as it has always been for me.
I would like you to listen to something. This is what I was listening to when I had my earphones in. There are many pieces of music which speak to me where you are concerned, for all sorts of reasons. Some of them are not connected to you, but give me a certain delicious pain behind my eyes, which doubles or triples if I squeeze them shut. I did this this afternoon, and tapped out the beautiful, dangerous rhythm on the counter, and felt you try to stop your eyes running over my fingers and wrist. From about 3:50 is the worst bit for me. When I feel the exquisite pain the most. Another song on the same album almost made me cry while I waited at the traffic lights. You could listen to the album, which I would strongly recommend, but for ease, the track in question is called Burning.
I feel as though I have spent months, years, toying with you. Flirting, playing, making you notice me. Being in your eyeline. I have made serious changes in that time. As a direct result of my love for you, I ended my marriage. We don’t speak about that directly, but we both know it was the right thing to do. We also both know that it was our first kiss that pushed me into such desperate movement. I know you have been involved in this for some time, (lets face it, it’s almost two years since our first kiss) but your actions tonight show that something has changed, your momentary wait, your hand to my waist. you’re somehow in the game.
I want to see where it leads.
With all my fucking love,
PS. You know where I am. How to contact me, and that my door will be open for you at any time.