My tears are strange this week and they’re coming suddenly and unexpectedly. Strange tears.
For the second time in as many years, I am leaving my lover behind. I am having these little moments where I am bracing myself for the plunge and the achingly sweet pull reaches its most unbearable.
I am committed to do this thing, to get on the plane and go. Committed to go, leave, it’s been this thing that’s sat between us from the first time we sat together and talked.
That afternoon, we sat there two hours into a rambling conversation (as all our conversations seem to be) and I told him I was going to England, he stopped dead, looked at me and said, “You can’t go. I finally found someone on my level, and you’re going? You can’t go.”
In my head, at the time, I went ‘On your level? Buddy, I pay my own rent. Don’t you still live at home?’ In my head he was 23 and well, I was turning 30. I’m mature and responsible (mostly) and well, at the time I didn’t really know how to interpret what he was saying.
Now, I think I understand. I just can’t believe I’m leaving and leaving him.
I am still fighting my feelings. Whatever they are, I still am not processing them thoroughly. It’s confusing sometimes and very powerful. Powerful enough for me to scared almost witless by joking comments like this one from on Monday, made as he was wrapping up his dick, “I know you want my baby you know…”
I said ‘almost witless’ didn’t I? My retort, “I know you want my baby. You keep telling me you’re going to breed me and take it from me. Who are you trying to fool?”
The thing is, it’s moments like that I swear he’s crawled inside my head and taken residence, because that morning, I was noticing all these pregnant women and women with small babies, and how many of these babies are everywhere. For a moment, it was hues of rentaempress and her Evilous Babies! I imagine what our features combined would look like in another human. He scares me sometimes. How is it that he knows what I’m thinking? How is it that our bodies know each other? How is it that six months ago, a year ago I walked passed him and ignored him? How is that we got from here to there? Do we know? It feels like a dream in retrospect, there’s this kind of surreal quality to it all.
So in those moments, when we play verbally, tossing around loaded emotional grenades like juggler’s balls, we keep these light screens between us. It’s the transparency of it all that sometimes scares me. Where does reality and my perceptions of it meet? Where does it diverge? This is what I keep asking myself. What should I accept, and what should I believe or disbelieve?
He’s told me he’s coming to England so many times now, I have to believe he means it. He’s not the type of person to bullshit me or coddle me, so I know he’s not saying it to placate me. I want him to come so badly! I want to knock about Europe with him, I want to have all those atypical immigrant experiences with him to keep company, because without a doubt he is the best male company I’ve had in years and I don’t want to lose that, can’t.
Just dealing with not seeing him every day, or even every other day has been hard. How am I going to handle months and months? How is he?
So where does it leave us now? With days left here, and a long weekend ahead, I’m wondering how this parting is going to go down. He’s been very affectionate with me, when we talk he tells me he misses me, when we’re together he tell me he will miss me once I’m gone. I can sense he’s trying to remain reserved and in control. Me, I’m trying to as well, but there has been seepage, I must admit. He thumbs the tears of my cheeks and says nothing, kisses me and says nothing more. He just lays close to me when he can, and like always kisses, candy sweet and addictive, pass between us, fingers stroking, soothing, petting.
He’s also agreed to come to the airport to see me off. He agreed easily, and yet I am afraid to him to be there. I don’t want to cry in front of him, I don’t want him to see my tears, although I’ve cried a little already. I’m afraid of appearing too needy. Why is that? I’m afraid of him seeing my sensitive underbelly, afraid of being too vulnerable, because what if he doesn’t come? What if he decides not to follow me to England? I am afraid of letting him too far inside, that I can’t get him out again. PHG has left such a terrible, brassy taste in my mouth, that I must admit I’ve grown some calluses around my heart. I’m afraid of going soft.
Shit, I think sometimes I’m just confusing myself because I don’t want to be too complacent, but at the same time knowing I have to let go. Maybe what’s scaring me is that this man is willing to look past that, and that I am willing to do that with him. Because we’re not bullshitting each other despite our avid game playing, I go along quite blissfully, doing my thing and living my life and making preparations, but the gap between when I get on the plane and when I may or may not see him again is yawning, and there’s this part of me clawing and scratching not wanting to let go of things between us, not let go of him.
So I’ve decided not to let go of him.
I’m leaving, yes we accept and admit this, but I’m not letting him go.
He doesn’t seem to be letting me go either. Yet, still, my little voice whispers about actually leaving and him actually following.